The ordinary day

No electronic rooster screaming at me today, and I’m not frantically asking myself what day it is, nor panicking if I overslept. The sunlight gently strokes my face through the half-open blinds, letting me know it’s already out there waiting for me. I hid from it a little longer. Not because I needed to, but on principle, because I can. Spring has started showing off in full force, and for once, I don’t have to watch it through the gap between the curtains while those two cold monitors in my bedroom light me up instead.

In my fridge is nothing but expired beef and half a block of butter. Next to the kettle, there’s one last coffee capsule rolling around. No idea where I got it, but I dust off the little Nespresso machine I got from someone a long time ago and top the rest of the cup up with hot water to make it last a bit longer. Coffee and the morning news. Except it’s nothing like that romantic ritual you see in old films. No suit, no breakfast, no copy of the Herald or the New York Times. Just half-naked under the sheet with my phone and a half-broken mug of black coffee.

I have no more coffee in this place of mine, and somehow I ran out of toilet paper, so I’ll have to skip that part of the morning ritual today. I put on my white sneakers and head out to meet this spring Monday.

At the entrance stairs, the old lady with curly hair the colour of red cabbage is already coming back from her walk with her half-dead dog. Like owner, like dog.

“Good morning.”

“Mm, mm,” she mutters suspiciously.

She’s not a fan of mine. In the two years I’ve been living here, I’ve run into her a dozen times, and we’d both prefer it if it were a dozen times less.

“Hugo, stop dawdling, come on,” she says and yanks the lead.

Hugo is just barely breathing. He trails behind her, strangled on the leash like a paper kite. I give him a pitiful nod. He looks at me with those sad eyes, begging for help. Sorry, Hugo, nothing I can do.

Thought about heading for the subway, but there’s one small problem. I hate public transport. Too many strangers, I don’t want to share space with.

I’d rather take the car. Luckily, I’ve got this great little spot on the edge of the pavement here. They only patrol designated parking zones; somehow, it never occurred to them to monitor pavements and patches of grass. Dummies. But still, parking fines from other parts of Prague arrive with the same regularity as reminders from the landlord that I’ve forgotten to send the rent again.

An older lady is just trying to squeeze past my car. I didn’t leave her much room, to be fair. As I unlock the car, it winks its indicators and spreads its mirrors, right as she’s shuffling past them. For a moment, I was worried I’d have her death on my conscience. She jumped the way she last jumped over a hurdle at gymnastics back when she was a good little comrade. She’s looking for whoever’s responsible for her fright. When she sees me watching her with a smile, she erupts.

“Do you think it’s normal to park on the pavement?! People can’t get through here!”

“It’s not bothering anyone, just go around.”

“What do you mean go around?! I should call the police on you!”

“Madam, it’s not my fault that you got scared.”

“WHAT?! You little…”

Well. Actually, it was.

“Goodbye, have a lovely day!” I shout after her while she’s still muttering to herself. Something about young people being worthless: we can agree on that.

On the way to park Stromovka, accompanied by the seat belt warning sound, I drive past those new hills of dirt that have grown in Smíchov. A flock of cranes stands guard above them, circling, carrying heavy concrete blocks in their beaks. Once they’ve finished here, they’ll migrate somewhere else, and people will finally have a place to live for an unlivable price.

I found an underground car park at Letná. Didn’t even know it existed until now. An entire world beneath the ground. Parked, paid, and carried on, still gritting my teeth, for I’d have to pay for parking this time.

I always used to park up on the plain itself whenever I came here as an unwanted invader to support my club. At the same time, the Reds’ eleven fanatically defended their temple to the roar of passionate fans. That temple is crumbling over their heads now, and it’s not quite the impregnable fortress it used to be, either. They always did good sausages there, though. I could use one of those right now.

The day has already slipped relentlessly into afternoon, and I’m still running on coffee and sunlight. But there must be some hidden café or bistro in this hipster neighbourhood where I could disappear and get something to eat. Down the street, in the shadow of an apartment block, I pass the third identical vegan bistro, its façade decorated with graffiti reading “Go Vegan.” I’d still rather have that sausage.

Passing the dusty shawarma joint, I set my sight on three little tables sunbathing on the pavement across the street, with their four-legged companions by their side. Le due Torri trattoria.

A small Italian restaurant, a different pasta every day, and inside a tiny shop selling Italian groceries. Nobody there. No wonder it’s in the wrong neighbourhood.

“Hi, can I get today’s pasta and an iced tea, please. I’ll sit outside.”

“Of course,” says the middle-aged woman with an unhurried smile.

The iced tea was outstanding, and the sun is warm on my face as I watch life go by. Girls and dogs, grandmothers with children, and the relentless cars, trams, and aggressive bike riders. Good thing I took the sunglasses. And it helps with the sun too.

“Here’s your amatriciana. Buon appetito.”

“Thanks so much — could I also get an espresso?”

“Of course.”

The pasta was excellent. So was the view. Life happens around me, and I’ve got a good espresso to go with it.

For a Monday, it’s quite busy here. Mothers with little ones, older couples, cyclists, and joggers. On the edge of the park, a tram arrives on tracks overgrown with grass, bringing a new wave of intruders. Maybe deeper in the park there’ll be quieter. Here, everyone is on your nose all the time, observing, judging, won’t let you breathe.

I walk by the planetarium, and between the two ponds, I walk behind the third one, where people take turns on a little ferry with a rope. Tied to the little island so visitors can get there. Impatiently waiting to occupy the little island in the middle. There, under a small hill, hidden in the shade of four chestnut trees, I find my spot. I take off my shoes and jacket and prop my head on my jumper against the trunk of one of those four giants. Life is happening around me. People and dogs. Hugo would like it here. But his world shrank long ago to a mouldy flat and one loop around the block, twice a day, tied to a leash.

In the near distance on the hill, just between the trees, sits a little chateau. The one that looks like elves from Rivendell built it.

From there, she slowly approaches in the sunlight. Long white satin skirt all the way down to her bare ankles, brown hair spreading down to her waist, twisted into tiny braided strands. She doesn’t know I exist, as the chestnut giant is kindly hiding me in his shadow. She drifts past me and stops at the edge of the pond.

Maybe I should talk to her. She won’t approach me, and maybe for the first time, I could take the lead instead of just waiting for life to pass by. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Heeey, so what, are you on your bike?” says the rumbling voice of a passing brute into his phone.

“No, how come? I thought you’d have thirty kilometres in your legs by now.”

“So do you want to borrow the bike then?”

“Ah, yeah, okay.”

“Why, I thought you wanted it because you don’t have a bike.”

The rest of this riddle unfortunately fades into the distance, and the princess goes with it. That’s what I get for hiding in the shadow. Left by the pond are just three kids and two dogs waiting for the ferry to come back so they can experience the disappointment of an island containing nothing but a broken bench.

Through the leaves, the calm shadow is interrupted by flashes of sunshine, and I’m no longer alone here. The fuzzy pollinator has arrived. He drifts in lazily and hides among the dancing blades of grass. Buzzing, in his working hours. I could train him, I think. Just the basics: sit, lie down, reverse.

He must have sensed it and, with a quick whirl of his wings, flew away, far away to the small creek under the chateau. He’s got things to do. And I’ve got nothing to do. The soft rustling of leaves in the wind plays in my ears, and I drift away.

A bell-like voice pulls me out of my daze.

“Good afternoon, is that your dog, young lady?” asks a police officer in khaki shorts, stepping down from his electric bike and untying his cyclist helmet.

“Yes, it is,” replies the young woman, watching her Labrador, who has just triumphantly burst out of the pond with a stick in his mouth.

“And why isn’t he on a leash?”

“Well, I wanted him to have a run and enjoy the park, you know.”

“Right, but you have to have him on the leash here, there are signs,” and he vaguely gestures somewhere into the distance.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to give you a little fine,” he says in that perverse voice of his.

“A fine? For not having my dog on a leash? But this is a dog park.”

“No, madam, the dog park is over there, past that dirt road; this part isn’t.”

“So if I were over there, nothing would happen, but here it’s three hundred crowns?”

“Exactly. Here, you can pay it now or later at the office.”

“Right. Okay, bye then.”

“Goodbye, and keep him on the leash, next time it would be five hundred,” he calls after her as he pedals off like a hawk in search of his next victim, his leather sandals lightly slapping away. Someone must really hate him in the police force to assign him to give out fines to dogs.

But order must be maintained; that much is clear.

I pull out my book, Man in Offside, from my pocket and try to read for a bit. I hadn’t even managed two pages when I nearly died of fright as, with heavy breaths, the Labrador thundered past me. Where’s the long arm of the law now, when such outrages are taking place? Public peace is under threat, and nobody’s defending it. The place is full of troublemakers of every kind. Rascal labradors, stern shepherds, inconspicuous dachshunds, and those bloodthirsty chihuahuas. Running around without restraint as if they owned the place.

Yet I can see the hawk of law patrolling the distant dirt road at the edge of the park. Good, everything in the park is under control, and the law is on the watch. I set off back to the car with my shoes in my hand. Strolling barefoot in the grass. “I will have to give you a little fine,” I hear in passing, as the officer catches a young couple and their shepherd.

On the way, just in front of me, a woman with blonde hair down to her hips. She was dancing with each step. I will not let her get away this time.

I pick up my pace and catch up to her at the stoplight. With pounding heart and heavy breath, I drag out: “H-hey, how are you?” She just looks me up and down and raises her eyebrows with slight disgust. The red light stays on forever. I let her walk off with her tattooed ankles.

I drive out of the underground with the window rolled down to enjoy the last of the sunshine. At the crossing, the pedestrian light has just turned red, and one poor soul is shuffling across too slowly for our city, and we don’t like that sort of thing here. The cars waiting at the lights didn’t need much encouragement to let him know exactly what they thought. Like a proper Prague man, he returns their greeting with the well-known raised finger and continues at his own pace. I nod approvingly at him with a smile from my window.

“And what are you staring at?” he says back to me.

And all that for trying to be friendly for once.

So moves life in this city of mine. As I drive back toward home, Ice Cube comes on the radio, and there’s nothing to do but agree: today was a good day.