Me. Twelve years ago. [That much he's honest about, but he's unaware of how obvious his actions had been.] Old fashion. It is a killer. [Says the man who dresses like he came from the eighties anyway, when he has a choice.]

[But then, he adds, more honestly.] I was a teenager then. A soldier in Yugoslavia. I remember what the child said, before we were to arrive.

[More things that he didn't want people to know about from anyone but him.]

I guess if you did not see it, and I did not see yours... It does not matter so much.