Vltavská

The last time I was here, it was late and the air was spent of its evening energy. The people's faces were sunken and drained. Now, the air has the static charge and heaviness of a coming storm, but everyone is too much of a hurry to be allowed a moments languor.

The station leads out to an cement island of občerstenvenís. All around people are sitting on the low walls, smoking and drinking. Their ages and states of inebriation vary. They are about the only humanity among the circling access roads. Everyone else clears out as soon as they arrive. It doesn't feel that I'm close to the city centre. All cities have places like this, at once near but forgotten. There's the former East Perth or Alexandria in Sydney.

Up from here there is a knoll where people take their dogs. A gutted fridge lies on its side. A few people glance at me as I wander back and forth. All my notes are mental ones at the moment.

From here, I can see the top of cathedral. The buildings are a mix of communist era tiled offices and turn of the century apartments. Unfortunately, there's no way of having a closer look without crossing a road. I return to the platform to meet G. We're seeing a film tonight at a cinema called Bio Oko - so the station was selected for that reason.

While I'm waiting I run into a colleague from the university. In his inimitable style he rattles off some details about a training session we're attending together and then says good-bye before I can respond. I wonder if I can survive a weekend with this guy.

G. arrives a little late and she's had a bad day at work. She fills me in as we cross the cement island to the tram stop. I glance back to make sure I haven't missed anything but in this moment I've gone back to being an ordinary commuter.