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About Prague

So, check this—back in the day, like, old Vegas stories, they say prostitutes used to hang by the gas stations, waitin’ for truckers, flashin’ smiles like they’re auditionin’ for somethin’. Little known fact: some’d carry switchblades in their boots—badass, right? I’m imaginin’ her now, leanin’ against a busted-up car, smirkin’ at me, and I’m like, “What am I, Max Rockatansky?”—all sweaty and neurotic, yellin’ in my head, “I just wanna talk, lady!” She’s prob’ly thinkin’, “This guy’s a schmuck,” and I’m over here, heart racin’, palms sweaty—pathetic!

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Oh man, my spa is a hotspot for gossip. I heard once, a guy almost got stuck in a malfunctioning jacuzzi—"Nu-i așa?" echoing like that film's raw energy. My spa's often a safe space when life, like, goes all through the roof. I got stories that'd make ya chuckle, cry, and scratch your head—totally unscripted, like our alien hearts, err, I mean, human hearts!

Emil Filla, pioneer of Cubism, born 140 years ago