I of IV: A Memory

It was October when M. and I traveled to the Czech Republic, and even now, three years later, October continues to remind me of our time in Prague.

We arrive in Prague on a Friday evening. The sky is grey, the air is cold and the autumn leaves fall on the stone streets heavily, like snow in winter. We find a pub with a menu tacked to the outside of the door advertising meals for under 100 crowns. M. tells me that this place is cheap enough for us to eat and so we  bravely open the heavy wooden doors and step shyly out of the cold. The woman inside seems uneager to serve us, and our food is deposited in our table with a disinterested slam. We are accustomed to Italy, where restaurant patrons sip delicate glasses of wine and wear leather boots with fashionable heels. Here, the customers drink large pints of beer and sit in wool sweaters in the smoke of the dark pub. We feel out of place as we scarf down our pork and potatoes, drinking water from slim, green, glass bottles. The food is heavy, but we feel warm, and as the music plays, no one notices the two weary girls in the corner of the pub.

We don't mind being ignored at all.