LXVI. Paths in Prague

Praha, 2008

The Little Martian stumbles out onto a rainy cobblestoned path in Prague at midnight.

The wind whistles and whooshes, zipping past his ears like tiny flutes off to choir practice.

The Martian has a silly little smile on his face and his head feels buzzy and far, far away.

A chubby artist on Charles Bridge stops him and asks him if he’d like a picture.

“I’d love one. “ He replies, arranging his ivy jowls into a Kardashian pout.

“Not that kind”, the artist tells him, guiding him gently to a wooden chair in front of an easel.

The Martian sits, mellow and tipsy upon the chair, and lets the artist take his time, he can hear the faint scratching of charcoal on a bumpy paper and he wonders what the fat man is making.

The Little Martian looks around, couples walk hand in hand, collecting eternal memories, evenings they will talk about for years to come. An angsty teenager sulks, punching holes into her battered iPod, a black shawl melting on her hunching shoulders. A thin white cat slips like a feather in the night, darting past the happy tourists.

A little girl with chubby cheeks and a fountain ponytail sleepwalks on the bridge at midnight, her elephant pajamas standing out comically against the chic backdrop of Charles Bridge.

The Martian watches her, enraptured, as she stumbles this way and that, eyes barely open, floundering like a drunken toddler. There is a strange sense of recognition that nags at him , his mind is too foggy to remember, the wine licks at his senses, mulling his memory until he cant understand what it was that he longed to remember.

The artist is done, he nudges the Little Martian and passes him a rolled-up scroll.

“20 euro please”

The Martian is enraptured by the little girl and barely looks up. He pulls out a wad of Glutzons, from his travels and hands it to the artist in a daze.

“Thank you very much. “

The chubby artist is too flummoxed to respond, he eyes the alien notes with anger first and then tucks them into his wallet, they will make for a good story one day he comforts himself.

The Martian follows the little girl as she stumbles, bumbling through the cobbled streets. She sleepwalks with abandon, her little lips curling into a delighted smile as she smells fresh pizza wafting from a nearby restaurant.

“Little Girl!” He whispers, “Little Girl, wake up, you're going to get hurt.”

The little girl giggles, her eyes fluttering open like dancing butterflies.

“Hello, Little Martian. Aren't you a bit early?”