Saturday: I rolled out of bed at noon, made coffee, put a load to wash. I decided that the rest can wait a little longer.
This realization. That I don’t have to do something all the time. That I can just sit at the table, drink coffee. And do not much else.
A warm October Saturday. The simplicity of eating my lunch in a park from the best Vietnamese bistro in Prague. With the sun in my face and the blue sky behind my back.
I wait for my two halves to arrive. Updates from the road every hundred kilometers. I think of Slovenia, of Austria. Of the mountains and the highways. It’s been a long time since I drove across those countries.
I had just sat down outside of Happy Bean coffee shop. He came out of nowhere. “Do you know anywhere I can find real chocolate-chip cookies?” I suggested a couple of places in the area. He came back soon, empty-handed. “I’ll see you later tonight?” We are officially neighbors now.
When I saw him again, he was crunching on a Granny Smith apple and offered me a half. “Wine?” “Wine not.” From Sydney to Prague for Love.
But there’s something about him. Foil-thin contempt for people; a bread crust of optimism that perhaps it isn’t all so bad. But underneath, something rotten and awful and he tries to hide it with manicured teeth and superficial laugh. But there is something there. Something. He walked out of the room. Crunching on peanuts for a change. He walked away from me lost in thought, almost like he was moonwalking. I wish he’d stop snorting up lines in the back room. I wish he’d stop thinking he’s fooling me. At the same time, I love that he knows who he is. His values shine from him. The circumstances don’t define him. And that’s fine.
I can’t help but ask, who is he?
Žižkov. I love my neighborhood.