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Why I go back

I walk in, I greet, I seat. I get my fix, I drink. I listen to the music, to the talk. I walk into the talk. I talk, and I drink and I laugh, loud. And I drink, and I talk.

Štamgast M says and gives something to the owner. Something I don't catch because I'm drinking my drink and talking my talk.

The music changes. Štamgast M looks at me with a half smile. Do I know the tune? Of course I do! Don't Fucking Cry For Me Argentina! How could I not!

I laugh. That tear that wanted to roll down thinks it better. It'd look silly.

Štamgast F now takes the piss. Again. He knows well how much piss he can take. He knows well how much piss he'll get back.

And I drink. And I listen. And I talk. And I laugh. And, by the way, I'm Štamgast P. And I'm Max. Ahoj.

And fuck the world! One more it is! Reality calls. Reality can wait a bit longer. It always has.

It was the beer that first brought me here. It's not the beer that keeps me coming back.

Na Zdraví!


  1. I have no fucking idea what this post is about. :-)

    1. Have a couple of pints, read it again, you might get it... :)

  2. Great post! Now all I need to do is find such a place in Charlottesville. Part of me wouldn't be too surprised though that when eventually Mrs V and I get back to Prague at some point (no timeline on that at the moment), that is essentially what will happen, 'will we want to leave?' is the question....


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