Chic (Prague, July 1999)
Czech Slut Chic is what we called the way the women dressed.
How can we differentiate the prostitutes from the pedestrians?
Those women riding escalators above us just forgot to wear panties.
We American girls wore denim cut-offs and sandals, lived on the seventh
in rooms with windows that spanned the entire wall. Windows perfect for
swan dives, but instead we threw cigarette butts trying to hit the people
below. I read Gertrude Stein even
though I dont
give a fuck about Alice B. Tolkas
or Melancthas Tender Buttons.
The Czech men are not pretty. There is no lettuce in all of Prague. They
salads are chopped tomatoes and
peppers. But the boys are beautiful
in Vienna, although they think pizza is bread with ketchup and cheese.
I was propositioned for sex in both German and Ukrainian.
I didnt understand a word, but I got the message.
An expatriate from Colorado tried to get me drunk on absinthe.
Men have gone blind from drinking too much.
I can get 35 crowns for an American dollar.
I saw Eight Millimeter at the Nicolas Cage film fest
in a one-screen theatre in Wenceslas Square and learned
that S&M and porno dont translate into
We whispered in old synagogues. I climbed 300 stairs
up the tower of St. Vituseven went to Sunday mass.
smells like urine.
All of it.
Peanut butter can only be bought at Tesco, the British equivalent to
But Tesco isnt Wal-Mart—their peanut butter tastes like paste.
plastered everywhere, on every
German tabloid, and us guessing what the
headlines meant. Ive been
to the worlds largest Dunkin Donuts—saw
white-tailed deer and American cockroaches at the zoo—seen
the house that was
Mozarts house in
Bruce & Demi, Arnold & Sly—they welcomed us at Planet Hollywood.
conditioning. Patrick Swayze. We unanimously
agreed Dirty Dancing was his best
We ate there 3 times in 4 days.
Originally appeared in The Gihon River Review