House

Imagine a club desinged by Richard "Data" Wang from the Goonies. Disparate, eclectic parts fastened to walls from cars or trucks, or lawnmowers, with small little engines rigged up to turn their gears, cylinders, or crank shafts; and green and red lights positioned around them. Everything spinning, wherever you look. But not randomly--the place, with all its chaos, had some sort of artistic form. Only in Eastern Europe. And house music constantly pounding. Behind where we were sitting was this spinning wheel (six feet in diameter) with other smaller spinning wheels welded to it. Above us was a second-floor balcony, made of rebar; the total hight of the bar was maybe twelve feet, so the people on the second floor, from floor to ceiling, had maybe four feet.

The girl that took me was actually Dutch, from Holland; typically American of me to confuse that with Norwegian, but I am what I am--what can you do? I asked her if she ever heard of Dutch Bros. Coffee. She hadn't. I told her Oregon has the best beer in the world, which she contested, saying every person says that of their native home (but Oregon's the exception to the rule, I said).

Earlier in the night, when I was first getting on the tram that'd take me to the our agreed upon meeting spot, I ran into two guys, Americans, who were going to the same club. On my way home, after the Dutch girl got off at her tram stop, I was left to find my way home. But when I looked out the tram, there were those two guys that live next to me! I got off, they knew what tram to take, we waited, and then toook it. But at the next stop, I lost them. They were at the bathroom (it's legal to use the streets). Tram 59 showed up, and I jumped on, thinking it was the right one, which it ended up being. I was ready to fall into bed, it being four in the morning, and cold. And even though the bartender charged me more because I'm American, I still only paid four bucks for the two drinks I orderd. A successful night in Prague.