So a sex worker walks into a bar in Dubrovnik. She needs, or at least wants, one more customer for the night. There were three men in the bar, not counting the bar staff. I was one of them, and she pretty much ignored me because I was eating. So I was starving when I finally got back. But a man having dinner is not a good bet for a quick pick-up.
I was going to want to finish my goulash. Or maybe she just has standards. She was right. That left two guys. They were young, they were fit, and they had haircuts that made me think they were possibly in the military. Or just some kind of gang. Anyway, they noticed the woman, and that she was selling sex, and they were both interested. At that point there could easily have been a mostly happy ending.
The first one to whip out a credit card or a wodge of cash, and smile at the woman, would get to take her to his room, or to her place if the Hotel Imperial made it hard to take sex workers into your room. But instead things got competitive, politely at first. Now that would mean that the man who was waved at would get the girl, but that he would owe the other fellow, and be revealed as a less grand and generous man.
They kept this going for a while. Then the girl got bored, so she sat between them, giving them a show of leg to remind them that there are better things they could be doing with their time.
So the argument resumed, but now there were no more shows of generosity. They both wanted the girl. They shouted at each other, saying presumably insulting and threatening things in Croation or Bosnian or Serbian. Then one of them pushed the other. The other guy pushed back.
