Last Night in Praha

Why is it that the last night is always the best night? Dang.

Kiki and I finally got around to drinking absinthe.


In a fabulous little dive bar called Hany Bany that served up big, roasted sausages with potato pancakes and cabbage for a buck a pop. Loved. It.


Okay, so the green shot wasn't so easy going down, at least for Kiki; but we both felt fabulous, like, three and a half seconds afterward. Good. Buzz. And no hallucinations to report, somewhat regretfully.


Before landing in the pub, I hauled my ass to the Franz Kafka museum, because I knew I'd regret it if I didn't. Very interesting. I'll have to read more of his stuff now.

There was a nice statue out front of two dudes with moving buttocks pissing together.



Is this Kafkaesque? I'm still not sure I understand the full meaning of that adjective.

I also was disturbed this morning after Kiki left for the airport by a very large, very angry, very blond Czech woman named Sharka. Funny how names always seem to suit people. She demanded I pay another night's rent thinking I had only booked the place for the month of July. Good Goddamn thing I had a copy of my booking form on my laptop to show her. Then she got on her cellphone and raised holy hell with the agency I booked through. Then she got nice and apologetic and told me I could leave my bags in the flat for the afternoon, but that she's got Italians moving in later in the afternoon. Whatevers.

I am so getting out of Dodge.