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In cold blood

I needed to protect her.

I went to check if there was anything in the basement that needed to be packed. The only thing left was the washed-out bloodstain on the concrete floor. That would be staying behind.

I closed the garage door and never looked back.


March 13, 2026

I had to see it for myself

It was my first time behind the former iron curtain. No one was going to stop me.

From the airplane window, Prague looked concrete and grey. The lobby of the Hotel Dům reeked of cigarette smoke and musty carpets. Who would name a hotel “doom” after all?

Twenty-five years later I think I got the omens mixed up.


March 12, 2026

Whatever you do, don't laugh

It was my first-ever yoga class. I went mainly because of the teacher, Drew. I was enamored with him.

The group of 20 of us did our Downward-Facing Dogs and Sun Salutations. Drew had warned me that sometimes people break wind and gave me strict instructions not to laugh. Otherwise he would not be able to stop.

A sudden burst of air. I could feel my face crack.


March 11, 2026

Lady Luck

She smiled through her sunglasses and waved at the oncoming tram driver like she had nowhere to be.

I couldn’t complain about the smoothest ride ever into the center. But this took the cake for slow. The ride home was equally slow.

There must be a gazillion trams. What are the chances?


March 10, 2026

She won't leave me alone

There was the sound of commotion. “Perhaps Spanish tourists,” I thought to myself.

Then she passed by me. She let out a howl. Her face and ear were swollen, shiny and red as a tomato. Her slapping ritual echoed down the platform.

I still can’t get her out of my mind.


March 09, 2026

Our shopping carts

At Ogletree’s supermarket I lost half my childhood.

Mom was painfully slow with her selections and I was bored. I’d hitch myself to the front of the cart and sing the tune for Busch Beer. Mom would cover her embarrassment with a smile and nod to the other shoppers.

At Lidl I saw a young girl doing the same thing, except she was singing a theme song for yogurt.


March 06, 2026

On display

I walk by the mirrored head of Kafka several times a week. I tend to catch him before he starts to spin.

At the top of each hour, tourists gather and start recording him. Hundreds of digital copies of his self-doubt are memorialized. Minutes later only empty cups of coffee and bubble tea remain.

I’ve thought about selling tickets.


March 05, 2026

Breakfast choices

At the bakery I felt a bit indulgent and ordered a cappuccino.

She looked like she needed a break from her own body. She parked her granny cart and sat at the table next to mine. A bottle seal cracked. She tilted her head back and gulped down the vodka.

She smiled at me as if I hadn’t seen it.


March 04, 2026

Have you been convinced?

I was convinced my rock tumbler could create precious gems. Surely no one else had one, and so I was going to make all us rich.

I asked AI to proofread an article I wrote the other day and to make sure the logic was sound. Paragraphs became oddly consistent and analogies were stripped. Dull.

“Just like the rocks from my rock tumbler,” I thought to myself.


March 03, 2026

How I found out

It’s impossible not to spot something as big as an A380. It was almost floating. But it shouldn’t be here, at least not at this time.

I pulled up the avgeek’s best friend. In bright red: Flight EK212 from Houston to Dubai diverting to Prague. Then came another A380. This time from Athens.

It clicked. My heart sank.


March 02, 2026