Is it raining? At an outdoor café in Novi Sad under an expansive web of umbrella-like-awnings, I wait for a slice of pizza. The tent above is tapped like there is rain, but pedestrians show no signs of it. No one ducks or covers their miraculously shiny hair; they just walk along, leisurely, strolling under the drops.

The waitress arrives with my food, but she does not set the plate before me. She sets it before the seat on my left and gives me a wink. Next to the plate, she thuds a red bottle of ketchup, a standard pizza topping here, though I demur. Quietly.

I move to the pizza-facing seat and nibble untouched as rain pours through the awnings above and fills the seat where I’d been scrawling. I hunt for her later to trade an appreciative glance for her small smirk of knowledge, as others leave their…