I always loved watching my sister applying make-up in the morning, that calmness on her face while contouring her lips dark red like all the Yugo girls did. These were the early 90ies and St. Linda Evangelista was watching the scenery from a torn-out magazine page my sister had stuck to the wall. I tried to make her laugh but she was too focused and just poked me in the arm without looking away from the mirror. There was a ­petrol station near our house to which she would send me to buy red Gauloises for her and sweets for myself. In those mornings we would talk and wonder why things had turned out to be that difficult while she was smoking and drinking coffee from her metal Thermos jug until she left for work always in a hurry.