No, I don´t think Michael can get to the internet, maybe when he gets home.
Anyway, I wrote few lines of
Litomerice, the place where those photos were taken.
I wondered what it would be like, the gig day before was well enjoyed by the crowd, so it looked it should get even better. I haven´t been to Litomerice yet, and probably won´t go there for some time. Now, back at home, I've been told that the town´s got nice historical center - which I haven´t seen. What I saw were tenement houses and dirty streets. We got into the pension, which seemed damn strange to me (even the name - Prislin - sure not too usual). At 5 pm we had to wait an hour until rooms were cleaned. Very spirit of the place was strange - the garden was dark green with almost gothic atmosphere (and there was a black cat too

) - with gargoyles...all that divided from the rest of the world by rather large wooden gate - behind it, usual street. Still, there was no sound from outside.
Even owners of the pension seemed a bit malformed to me, probably with gypsy heritage. They didn´t look into your eyes, whispered to each other; it was pretty scary anyway. Now, when my fantasy can colour the event a bit, it seems scary^2. But even at that time, I was wondering, if we´re gonna live up to morning, or if we´re to be sacrificed in secret tomb complex under Litoměřice.
Furniture in the house was very old - but not "for-tourists-old", but really old. Sadly, there were only thin walls and doors between our rooms, so I figured out there wouldn´t be much sleep on my part . After settling inside, we went to play the gig - which went rather fine - we met our manager, Romek, managerial figure and official photographer Zuzana (

) - and the organizer of the gig told me my uncle says hello, that he played there very short time ago (my uncle is very good accordion player) - the world is small. After we ran through all the songs, we sat (bass and drums player went to Prague), drank some stuff, ate some stuff (mostly kundaklobasa - can be translated as cunt-sausage) - and then went back to the pension. We took a shortcut, which was (kind of surprisingly, yet considering we carried our instruments, luckily) truly short. We came around people playing table football in a bar, and put our things inside.
Those people with football seemed kind of drunk and detached - again, the atmosphere in the garden was unusual - it´s like when you walk the street on Christmas, look into windows and see so many events - yet they´re so tiny parts of many long life stories...and you know you´ll never touch/read/hear 1% of those stories...this way, the connection is hardly to be seen, but I sure felt it like that, back then.
Anyway, we sat in the bar (no good cunts, only one barmaid and occasional girl, but not what you´d expect in a bar) - and we were joined by Zuzana shortly. We sat, Michael and Kieran were drinking wine (moravian red). We were joined by Jarda...an interesting human being, to an extent. He was in the room already, laughing when we were laughing over some cunt variants of irish songs (he was pretending or could figure out that cunt sounds very similar to its czech variant). I thought he´d be able to speak english at that time, but when he came to our table, he managed to disprove my belief

He sat in a funny way, touching Michael as he could - was sweating all over (those two things led me to believe he´s not only a quier, but a quier on drugs). He tried to communicate - when I offered my help with translation, he didn´t even look at me. And he couldn´t speak english at all. Fair play, he scored some points looking at Michael and saying: "You...fucking...Kieran"

. After few minutes, communication went so well that he understood that Michael is Michael, but after few more minutes of staring, he started getting aggresive - he was showing his fists and shouting that Michael should respond to him (don´t know how you can respond when there was no question posed, but that´s for Jarda to sort out in his head) - we better left in haste. With Michael, we went a bit with Zuzana towards her hotel to make sure Jarda wouldn´t consider her to be a boy and rape her - mission success. Then we went to bed...as far as I remember, we agreed, after the gig, we wanted to go to sleep early - leaving that bar at 2 in the morning didn´t look so, but Michael and Kieran were drinking wine and talking till 4-5! And then passing through my room to pull their cocks.
I had the best sleep between 8 and 10 I think...though I dreamt of a wasphive - those wasps were closing in, trying to sting me to death...then I woke up - the buzz was fucking real!!! The window was open - what the hell, I thought? Wasp invasion? Then I realized there are only 2 doors and 2 walls between me and Michael´s room, and that the mighty artifact, the wanking machine, caused me such unease (allright, this paragraph may be a
little exaggerated

). Then we went for a breakfast to some pub and things got good again...