The Airportline: Observations

And she said that we were bastards, and that my face looked gay. She continued, claming that also she looked like a bastard. I guess we were a group of bastards, bastards with beer, she had wine. Then she said 'you'll look good in anything' before she claimed that several people at The Prague Post were, fucking, bastards. 'You can't wear orange, you'll look like a bastard' she then told me. She asked us if we wanted to go to Bali with her. We declined the invitation artfully. Well, we said: no. She placed her glas of wine next to the table, making it crash on the stone floor. There was no magic, just a group of bastards, and a broken glass of wine. And we left her in the bar and went out in the Prague night. Old town square was quiet, and old looking. While the bartender cleaned up the shattered glass. Maybe she too was a bastard.