... and besides, what could they possibly nail me for? If it’s love I am looking for in other people’s bags, then so far I have been entirely unsuccessful. In eight years (and seven months, two weeks and a half, two days and twenty-seven hours) I have found many things: half-eaten oranges, 473g of fake taste-enhancement powder, a scratched disc of Catherine Ribeiro and the Alpes, a Swedish army knife (yes, in Sweden too they use knives in the army – isn’t it fascinating, how the most advanced nations use the most primitive weapons…?), hard print copies of articles from Bracha goleshet, small change from all over the world, a worn-out 53rd edition of Oliver’s Story (do sequels count towards love)?... My brother says that if you can’t buy love, you definitely can’t steal it. I have love and I hate my brother.