|Not really dancing on the dancer|
I would rather just sit in a dark bar, listening to some live music, drinking cheap beer. Especially in Prague, where cheap beer is plentiful and awesome. If you're in Prague and going to a cocktail bar, you my friend, made a wrong turn somewhere. And as you notice the numbers of Czechs surrounding you dwindle while the number of Russians and Americans rise up, you might just be inclined to agree.
So when my friend from Georgia said, "Let's go to a club" my mood floundered. What did I know about clubs here anyway? You might as well toss me into a fighting pit of shiko dachi masters - that’s stuff I know nothing about, I’d lose just being stared down like I was a penguin in the Arctic.
Those words - “Let’s go to a club” - ring like alarm bells warning of the coming Mongol hordes. Those words mean that tonight, Saint Facetious, you will be sad and miserable and relive all those college years where you were alone and afraid of women, their curled tongues and fiery gazes. I will not go back.
|Lasers transmitting gnosis!|
As much fun as all that sounded in the advertisements though, it did cost 200 crowns (10 euros), which is something like 4 beers. That kind of math didn’t add up and I vetoed the option, letting them choose some other trashy tourist lounge, which also cost some terrible covers. Eventually we finally decided to go to some truly terrible place that was as empty and devoid of people as the black music they played was empty of all soul, having been sucked out by the great evening star of Capitalism.
Nihilism is best served chilled, with some cherries. So we ordered some of that and called it an evening.