It was strange to be in Prague again wandering like a tourist down that cobblestone street past the church, the old clocks, the streetcar tracks.
Strange to be with a friend I hadn’t seen for so long but stranger still to be buck naked in the noon-day sun.
Strange to see myself as an actor on screen, to speak my lines in that dream state of unknowingness, lines jammed in my hand just as the camera rolls, the writing sheer crap, my friend not giving me anything to work with.
So what could it mean, my nakedness in Prague? That mash-up of the foreign and familiar, my white ass, this Bohemian air?
I wondered from the bathroom stall with my coffee, I replayed the dream to find some truth.
As I did strolling down those cobblestone streets, the old church, the arced overhangs.
As I do through all of life, feeling like I’ve been here before, surely it must mean something more.