If Czechia is the fusty valley where poisons eat away all the brilliant ideas, things, and people, then Prague is here to show hope that there is a way out. Not across the borderline hills, but upwards, right from the middle. They’re no spires filtering through the iron curtain, these are rockets and that’s why there’s hundreds of them. You say they’re chic? And ask how many of them have been launched? Well, they’re fossilized after all those years, although we all want out and away. For good, not just for a week like you, Mr. Vladimir.
I dream about glass. I know exactly how it looks like, and when I wake up, I’m happy that I had a dream about it.