Brawls, shootings, and occasional kidnappings are so common here that warnings of kidnappings, shootings, and occasional brawls in the outside world are like threats of bad weather: inconvenient. Occasionally colorful. Preparation is simple. Take an umbrella. Take pepper-spray. Take extra cab-fare: carry it in your underwear, in your sock, in a place where even a mugger wouldn’t dare touch you. And if he attempts, vomit if you can, as even the most hardened criminals want to keep their shoes clean. I learned these tricks in Chicago. I’ve had to use them on occasion, though I can’t exactly vomit on cue. (I wonder if I’m missing out on something? Probably not.) Before my trip to Prague, I was given warnings about those people: Czechs, I assume. They were never identified. They were simply those people…the ones who spoke a funny and apparently incomprehensible language: foreigners…dubious, post-Communist sorts. Impenetrable. Of course, the tricks I learned in Chicago were totally useless in Prague. I took only two cabs while I was there: beer, in the local way of thinking, was more important than safety. Trams are much cheaper, more fun and infinitely more colorful. I met people named Kača, and Štépán, Jarda, Pavl, Tom, and Slavek…lots more people named Martin and Jana and Honza. Hedgehogs, drunks, and English tourists were so common, that warnings of English stag parties, drunks, and hedgehogs (in the outside world) were like threats of heavy traffic. Defense required simple preparation: Pretend not to speak English. Stamp your feet and say (in Czech, of course,) “Go away.” That second ability seemed to ward off both drunks and surly, street-adapted hedgehogs. In Chicago, on a night of fireworks and patriotism, I visited with Corey. The night-time air was thick with smoke and a tinge of sulfur. Strange, fiery blossoms opened over the city, and then faded. As the night aged, the need for liquid refreshment arose. Corey and I had consumed all we’d purchased earlier, and so I decided to go out and buy some more: carbonated stuff: lemon-lime flavored, but not as sweet as one would imagine. It might have been easy to sink into the Prague mindset and simply walk to a corner store. Chicago and Prague are sister cities, after all…but each differs from the other. Prague-thought was inappropriate. In Chicago, safety is more important than beer. And so—late, late at night—I walked: prepared for shootings, brawls, or the occasional kidnapping. During my return to Corey’s—with liquid refreshment, and potato chips—I passed a twenty-four-hour greasy spoon: the worst restaurant in Chicago. It was open. People sat inside. I saw some of them step in. I prepared myself for a probable, grim encounter. My preparations were unnecessary. There were to be no shootings, no muggings, no random kidnap. I’d simply passed guys in flip-flops, the undersides of their toes darkened with street grime: the kind of stuff you get on your skin when walking barefoot at some street fair. They smelled of beer and cologne and just a tinge of sweat. They didn’t notice me. They were hungry and in their hunger, they’d determined that bad food was better than none at all. I passed them…turned back around when they’d arranged themselves before the cheap, linoleum food counter and read the not-so-extensive menu posted just above the cooking bay. I snapped a picture and moved on. This is the picture. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a pleasant and productive week.