text:
I thought I'd never stop missing you.
I thought the echo of your voice would never stop in my head
That the words I love you
And Angel
Would forever ring in my ears.
I thought I'd never get over the way your hands felt on me
the trailing of your fingers on my lips
their dance around my collarbone
and the way they dragged over my rib cage
leaving a trail every inch of the way.
I was sure that I'd never forget the constellation of freckles along your back
and the one behind your left ear
how beautiful they were
how they never bothered me
and how I loved them even though you didn't.
I knew I'd never forget the color of your eyes
so chocolatey brown
with a hint of green
and a splash of orange.
I thought I'd never stop missing you.
But the echo of your voice has since turned into a whisper
I've found myself unable remember what your laugh sounds like
and I find it annoying when I hear someone call someone Angel.
I've slowly gotten over the way your hands felt on me
and I've come to realize
how rough the skin on your fingers was
and how the trails you've left are just scars I want to cover up.
I'm not sure where your freckles are
I think there is one behind your right ear
and on your stomach
and maybe a few on your shoulder
but I always found them messy and annoying.
I don't know what color your eyes are
you have blonde hair so I'm guessing blue?
I guess I've just stopped missing you.
Marry me to the dollars that were never mine
to begin with, or end in my divorce from time and bandwidth.
Date me like the daze you're in,
free from Good, but taxed by Sin.
Dump me when you've gotten full,
go fool around with other rules,
and die a loan short of joules.
And yes I have gotten lost in those tunnels he calls eyes
but I have been saved by his smile which is a light at the end
and I have been called home by the song that is his voice
and yes love makes you blind but I have kept my eyes wide open
and I have not been naive
I've seen him in all of his glory and his flaws
I have taken him for precisely what he is
and still I feel the butterflies in my stomach
and still he takes my breath away
and still any day spent not speaking to him
is a day without any worth
It is just no good.
I guess I just wasn't ready to hear it,
I'd hoped that you'd stay the way you were long enough
to give me a chance
but now there's a harsh reality
and facts left to be faced,
the main one clearly saying you and I will never be.
You always had him on your mind,
I knew it was always that way
but did not want to believe it.
I don't really know why I let you in,
I should have locked my heart away several times over
to avoid you straining it again.
Years ago it was that way,
with the same one it is with today.
You're over there and I'm over here,
you've got him and he's got you,
we could never, ever work out.
I repeat the last three lines over and over in my head,
trying to better relieve myself that you and me is at its end.
He makes you happy,
so do I,
but in a different perspective and a different light.
I'll have to cut the soul ties holding me to you,
they've gotten thicker and thicker the more my mind has drifted to you.
How could I have allowed you in like this?
To let you play the keys and the strings of my soul
in this sharp, broken melody?
But you love him,
and you love me,
but you've always loved him differently.
I've got to let you go,
let loose my grip on the rope,
and fall freely,
because you're holding me over the edge.
I've got plans I need to make,
thoughts I need to think,
and not one of them involves you anymore.
This isn't as much a poem as it is something I hope a certain someone will read.
500 names and 500 bodies
Each one born to a family
Each one the crypt of its own stories
500 names and 500 stories
Stories that won't be told in the newspaper
Not even in a little box under the
Front page headline that tells you to be afraid
Be afraid of the streets at night
Be afraid of what could be waiting in your own backyard
Be afraid of people who are poorer than you
Be afraid of people who are a different color than you
Be afraid of people who practice different religions than you
Be afraid of the mother whose cries of anguish, cries of pain
Echo from the street outside
Because she buried her bullet-riddled son today
He doesn't get his name in the paper
He wasn't on the honor roll
And he'd gotten into some trouble
But he had the misfortune to be born on the South Side
To a woman who has to live with being called a welfare queen
A woman who worked two jobs just to feed him
who worked her fingers to the bone
to provide him a home
She'd rather feel the burden of providing for him
Than feel the agony of missing him
Because every day on the 20th of February
She'll be going to his grave instead of his birthday party
And he'll become another name on a list
One of 500 names that a politician
Can put on a chart and say
This. Must. Change.
And revel in the cheap applause he's stolen
But will forget about once he's been chosen
500 names and 500 dollar bills
Dollar bills you hide behind because money is the only God you know
But dollar bills can burn
Dollar bills are just green pieces of paper
Green like greed
Green like Lady Liberty
Green like the huddled masses Lady Liberty promised to protect
Green like the envious masses throwing their money away on Lucky Lotto
In the desperate hope that they might someday compete with you!
And be welcomed into your gated communities
With open arms
And open palms
And open hearts
But you don't know anything about that because you are heartless
If poverty creates violence,
then wealth creates intolerance
500 deaths is a tragedy
But for you, it's just something to read
At your breakfast table in your house in the suburbs
Comforted by the headlines that try to make you afraid
i used to say things like "you will be mine."
or, "you will love me."
or, "one day, you'll start to care."
but i am not the foolish young girl i used to be.
i know better than to believe in miracles or fairy tales.
maybe that's all we would have been; a fairy tale.
in real life the ugly commoner never even gets noticed by the perfect prince.
i have gotten noticed by you.
what makes me think that you cared?
you have an entire kingdom of girls better than me.
you and i would never work and it's a bit hard to understand that fact after believing in us for so long.
it's hard going from the top of the world to rock bottom and that's how i feel after losing you.
actually, no, i didn't lose you.
i still see you everyday.
i guess i just came back to reality.
I fell into this hole that was too deep to climb out that I started shouting for help
Hope happened to pass by and peeking in, found me in hysterics and left
Telling me she will go and find help and some rope, then come back
To lift me out from this place, dark and cold
And left her twin - Despair to keep me company
He jumped in and told me his sister is a consummate liar, that she will not be coming back
He said that she knew I'd be stuck down here forever and just couldn't bear to tell me the truth and so lied
But he told me not to worry 'cause he was willing to help me dig my way out and so had jumped in
He says he will not leave my side (as if he could now that he's down here and not up there)
That the only way out was down and that we'll be best friends in no time
At least that's what he told me
The other day, Depression happened to peer over the hole because he heard the sound of someone digging
My best friend invited him for help and he jumped right in without a second thought before I could stop him
Now I listen to both of them chattering and laughing away, best friends forgotten, in this crowded hole
And in between telling me that I need to lighten up saying they were there to help me as they dig beneath my feet
It's been two months and a half since Despair jumped in to help me
And this hole has gotten so much deeper, thanks to Depression's tireless help
I wonder where Hope has gone and was she really what her brother told me
As I try holding all this dug up dirt up on my shoulders without falling
And no matter how I tell them to stop, her brother and and his friend won't stop their digging
They say we are getting very close to the other side of the world
I've been told the world is flat and if I believe it to be true
And if these two should dig their way to the bottom
Where will we fall? And how long? And what's down there?
And will Hope's helping hand ever reach me that far down?
"It could of gotten worse,
or it could of gotten better.
It probably would of stayed the same,
but I guess now it doesn't matter."
In the heat of the night you look so predatory.
Before you, life had gotten so boring.
But inside my head is a clear warning.
You've got to start on the ground if you wanna start soaring.
I know I've said it before and it's the same old story.
Being clearly unsure is clearly the sure thing.
And now my throat is too sore to even try to sing.
When you come back to me, I think of the gift that you'll bring.
Your undying love never fails to tug on my heart-string.
See, I've still got to learn the meaning of a fling.
Among a tall list of you related things.
It was 98'.
No, it was 99'.
That was the year.
Yeah, that was the year.
I had just landed abroad and knew no one.
Well, I was there with my girlfriend, Page.
I knew her.
We had to get out of the states.
There was nothing for us there.
We were drowning in that nothingness - that lacking future.
Cookie cutters everywhere.
Everything I saw was like an outline of something that had already happened.
I couldn't sleep.
I couldn't fuck.
I could barely call my parents to let them know what I was doing.
Nothing really.
Floating downward like a leaf broken from its stem.
I was scared.
I'll admit it.
I was terrified of the next four years.
Twenty-five seemed so far away and so close, all at the same time.
We had a found an apartment to live in while in the U.S.
We were lucky because people we met later on said it was hell trying to find a place after arriving.
I was never too good at that stuff anyway.
I always felt like people were trying to cheat me or something.
It was small.
You would have said you loved it, but secretly hated it.
One could barely stand in the shower.
Want to spread your arms wide?
Forget about it.
There was a balcony though and you could watch the street traffic from above.
People look so small when your high up.
Down the street, there was a large theatre where they filmed movies.
I rarely saw them shooting, but I could tell it was a good place to.
It was beautiful at night when the lampposts would flicker on, orange spilling on the street.
Everything was damp in the Fall when we first arrived.
"What do you want to do today?" I asked her. She was laying face down on the bed.
Whenever she was hungover, she would do that.
All the covers and pillows over her face, blocking out the world and its light.
I did the same thing, so I couldn't really say much.
We were hungover a lot those first couple months.
Then came the jobs and everything changed...mostly.
She moaned something that I couldn't understand.
I was standing by the window, staring at the pigeons and crows perched on the roof across from us.
They had made a little nest under one of the shingles.
Clever little fucker's.
"Look at those things," I said.
The coffee I was drinking was bitter and made from crystals.
It gave me a headache, but it was cheap and we were broke.
I stepped back to get a better look at their nest and knocked an empty beer bottle around.
She moaned again and rose up from bed, kind of like a stretching kitten or a cat.
Her back was arched like a crescent moon and she stunk of vodka and Sprite.
The blankets were twisted and crumpled and she was tangled in them like a fly in a spiders web.
I went into the kitchen and poured out my coffee, thinking of what to do with the day.
"Breakfast?" she asked me from bed.
My back was to her, but I knew she wanted me to make it.
I put the electric stove on and opened the refrigerator.
"No eggs," I said back to her, "I'll be right back."
She moaned and slithered back into bed.
I threw my jacket and slippers on and made my way downstairs.
"Dobry den," I said to the cashier.
He was a tiny vietnamese man with a extremely high pitched voice.
I struggled to stifle a laugh every time I came in.
"Dobry den," he said back, sounding like air escaping from a balloon.
"Dear God," I thought, "How does his voice box do it?"
I went straight to the eggs, pretending to cough.
All around me were packaged sweets and rotten vegetables and fruit.
There were half loaves of brown, stale bread wrapped lazily in thin plastic.
Canned beans, noodle packets, and cardboard infused orange juice lined the shelves.
Where were the goddamn eggs?
We needed milk too.
Trying to drink that crystalized coffee without it was torture.
I don't even know how I did it earlier.
"I must be getting used to the taste..." I thought.
I opened the single refrigerator they had in the place.
It was stocked with loosely packaged cheese, milk, beer, and soda.
There they were, those goddamn eggs, right next to the yogurt.
I looked at the expiration date of a small carton of chocolate milk and winced.
"Someone could die here if they weren't careful," I whispered to myself.
"Everyding O.K.?" I heard the cashier squeak behind me.
I turned and nodded and showed him the eggs.
He was suspicious I was stealing something.
It was ironic.
I put the eggs on the counter and handed over what the cash register told me.
"There you go," I said and handed him the 58 crown in exact change.
"Děkuji," he peeped.
His voice sounded like a stuffed animal.
I nodded, smiled, and quickly got the hell out of there.
"You know the guy that works at the shop across the street?" I asked the body still in bed.
Well, she was up now, back up against the wall with her laptop on her lap.
"You mean the guy that has the voice of a little girl?"
"Exactly. I was just in there - getting these eggs - and I nearly laughed in his face."
"That's mean," she frowned, staring at her laptop.
Many of our conversations were with some kind of electronic device in between us.
We needed to work on that.
"I didn't laugh at him directly."
She smiled and nodded and moved down the bed a little more.
Only her head was resting on the pillow.
I cracked two eggs and let them sizzle there in the butter and the salt.
"So, what do you want to do today?" I asked Page, "It's not too cold out. We could go on a walk."
"I don't know. Over the bridge and maybe down by the water."
"It's going to be so cold," she shivered.
"I was just out there in slippers and a t-shirt and I was fine."
"That's because you're so big. I'm tiny. I don't get as much blood flow."
I flipped the two eggs and looked down at them.
Golden and burnt slightly around the edges.
Fucking perfect.
Now, just gotta wait a little on the other side and make sure to not let the yolk harden.
I hated that more than anything in the world.
Well, that and hearing piss poor excuses like it being too cold.
It was nice out.
She'd be fine.
"Come on," I sighed. I did that a lot. "It'll be fun."
She looked up at me from her computer with a dead look in her eye.
"What?" I asked her.
"You're such a...nerd," she said.
"No I'm not."
"You're so weird. Some of the things you say sometimes..."
"Like what?"
"Let's go on a walk."
She exaggerated the word walk.
I laughed and knew I was being a little too excited about a walk.
"Yeah. So? What are you doing? You're just laying there doing nothing."
"It's my day off," she scoffed, jokingly.
We were unemployed.
Everyday was a day off.
This was not something to bring up.
It was touchy subject.
One had to go about it...delicately.
"We need to find jobs," I stated, "And we can probably ask around or look for signs in windows."
"Oh JESUS," she gagged, coughing and diving back under the covers.
"I'm just thinking ahead so we can stay here. There's got to be something out there we can do."
"Like what?" she asked, her voice muffled by blankets.
"I don't know...something," I mumbled, trailing off as I flipped one of the eggs, "Perfect."
After breakfast, Page finally got out of bed and took a shower.
I tried to sneak in there with her, but, like I said before, one could barely fit themselves in there.
We compromised to have sex on the bed, though I did miss doing it in the shower.
As Page got dressed, I watched her slip those thin black stockings on, half reading a magazine.
I had gotten a subscription to The Review because I was trying to become a writer.
I thought, maybe if I read the stuff getting published - even the bad shit - it'll help.
Later, I realized, this was a terrible idea, but I enjoyed the magazine all the same.
Page finished getting dressed.
I jumped into whatever clothes were on the floor and didn't stink.
Then, we were out the door on Anna Letenske street, looking at the tram, downhill.
"I can see my breath," Page said, "It's cold..."
"Alright," I said as both of us ran across the street, "It's a little cold."
"But it's ok because I'm glad were out of the house."
"If we would have festered there any longer, we would have stayed in there all day."
"And missed this beautiful day," she said mocking me, putting both of her arms in the air.
The sky was gray and overcast and a single black crow flew over us, roof to roof.
No one was out, really.
It was Sunday and no one ever really came out on Sundays.
From the few czech friends I had, they explained to me this was the day to get drunk and cook.
"Far different then what people think in the States to do," I remember telling him.
"What do you do, my friend?" he had asked. He always called me my friend.
It was a nice thing to do since we had only known each other a couple weeks.
"Well," I explained to him, "Some people go to church to pray to God."
He laughed when I said this and said, "HA! God? How many people believe in God there?"
I had heard through the news and some Wikipedia research Prague was mostly atheist.
"A good amount, I'm pretty sure."
"That's silly," he scoffed, "Silly is word, right?"
"Yep. A word as any other."
"I like that word. What else do they do on Sunday?"
"A lot of people watch football. Not like soccer but with..."
"I know what you talk about," he said, cutting me off, "With the ball shaped like egg?"
I nodded, "Yes, the one with the egg shaped ball. It's popular in the Fall on Sundays."
"And what is Fall?" he asked.
You can see our relationship was really based on questions and answers.
He was a good guy, though I could never pronounce his name right.
There was a specific z in there somewhere where one had to dig their tongue under their teeth.
Lots of breath and vibration that Americans were never asked or trained to do.
Every czech I met said our language was a high contradiction.
Extremely complex in grammar and spelling, but spoken with such sloth.
I don't know if they used the word sloth.
I just like the word.
As we waited for the tram, I noticed the burnt orange and red blood leaves on the ground.
"Where had they come from?" I wondered. There were no trees on the street.
Must be from the park down the block, the one with the big church and the square.
There were lines of trees there used as leaning posts for the bums and junkies as they waited.
What they were waiting for, I never knew.
They just looked to be waiting for something.
I kicked a leaf into the street from the small island platform for the tram.
It swept up into the air a couple inches, and then instantly, was swept away by a passing car.
I watched as it wavered in the air, settling down the block in the middle of the road.
"Where's this trammm," Page complained.
Whenever it was cold out, her complaining level multiplied by a million.
"Should be coming soon. Check the schedule."
"Too cold," she said, "Need to keep my hands in my pockets."
I shook my head and looked at the schedule. It said it would be there at 11:35.
"11:35," I told her, still looking at the schedule. There was a strange cross over the day of Sunday.
"You mad?"
"No," I said turning to her, "I just want to have a nice day and its hard when you're upset."
"I'm not upset," she said, her teeth chattering behind her lips.
"Complaining I mean. We can go back home if it's really too cold. It's right there."
"No," she looked down, "Let's go out for a bit. I just don't know how long I'll last."
"Ok," I shrugged.
I looked up the street and saw our tram coming; number 11.
"There it is," I said.
"Thank God," Page exhaled, "I feel like I'm about to die."
Even the tram was sparse with people.
An empty handle of cheap liquor rattled in the back somewhere.
I heard it rock back and forth against the legs of a metal seat.
"Someone had a night last night," I thought, "Hope that's not mine."
We had gone to some dark bar with a lot of stairs going down - all I really recall.
Beer was so damn cheap there and there was always so much of it, one got very drunk easily.
I couldn't even really remember who we met or why we went there.
When everything's a blur in the morning you have two choices:
Feel guilty about how much you drank, lie around, and do nothing or,
Leave it be, try not to think about it, and try and find your passport and cell phone.
We made our transfer at the 22 and rode downhill.
Page looked like she was going to be sick.
Her sunglasses were solid black and I couldn't see her eyes, but her face was flushed and green.
"You alright?" I asked her.
"I'm fine," she said, "Just need to get off of this tram. Feel like I'm going to be sick."
"You look it."
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, a little bit."
"Let's get off at the park with the fountain. I don't want to puke here."
"Ok," I said, smiling, "We'll get off after this stop."
We sat down on one of the benches that circled around the fountain.
It was empty and Page was confused why.
"Maybe to save money?" I suggested.
"What? It's just water."
"Well, you gotta' pump the water up there and then filter it back out. Costs money."
"Costs crown," she corrected me.
"Same thing," I said, putting my arm around her, "There's no one here today."
"I know why," she stated, flatly.
"Because it's collllllllld and it's Sunday and only foreigner's would go out on a day like this."
I scanned the park and noticed that most of the faces there were probably not Czech.
"Shit," I muttered, "You may be right."
"I know I am," she said, wiggling her chin down into her jacket, "We're...crzzzy."
"We're what?" I asked. I couldn't hear her through her jacket.
She just shook her head back and forth and looked forward, not wanting to move from the warmth.
Dogs were scattered around the brown green grass with their owners.
Some were playing catch with sticks or balls, but others were just following behind their owner's.
I watched as one took a crap in the center of the walkway near the street.
Its owner was typing something on their phone, ignoring what was happening in front of him.
After the dog finished, the owner looked down at the crap, looked around, then slunk off.
"Did you see that?" I asked Page, pointing to where the owner had left the mess.
"Yeah," she nodded, "So gross. That would never fly in the states."
"You'd get shoulder tackled by some park security guard and thrown in jail."
"And be given a fat ticket," she said, coughing a little, "Let's get out of here."
"Yeah," I agreed, "And watch for any poop on the way out of here."
We made our way out of the park and down the street where the 22 continues on to the center.
"Let's not go into the center. Let's walk along the water's edge and maybe up to the bridge."
"Ok," I said, "That's a good idea." I didn't want to get stuck in that mass of tourists.
I could tell Page didn't either. I think she was afraid she might puke on a huddle of them.
We turned down a side street before the large grocery store and avoided a herd of people.
The cobble stones were wet and slick, glistening from a small sliver of sunlight through the clouds.
Page walked ahead.
Sometimes, when we walked downtown in the older parts of Prague, we would walk alone.
Not because we were fighting or anything like that; it was all very natural.
I would walk ahead because I saw something and she would either come with or not.
She would do the same and we both knew that we wouldn't go too far without the other.
I think we both knew that we would be back after seeing what we had wanted to see.
One could call it trust - one could call it a lot of things - but this was not really spoken about.
We knew we would be back after some time and had seen what we had wanted to.
Thinking about this, I watched her look up at the peeling paint of the old buildings.
Her thick black hair waved back and forth behind her plum colored pea coat.
Page would usually bring a camera and take pictures of these things, but she had forgotten it.
I wished she hadn't.
It was turning out to be such a beautiful day.
We made it to the Vlatva river and leaned over the railing, looking down at the water.
Floating there were empty beer bottles and plastic soda jugs.
The water was brown, murky, and looked like someone had dumped a large bag of dirt in there.
There was nothing very romantic about it, which one would think if you saw it in a picture.
"The water looks disgusting," Page said.
"That it does, but look at the bridge. It looks pretty good right now."
We turned our heads and looked at Charles bridge.
Hundreds of people were walking back and forth, specks shuffling to the both sides.
Every two seconds, a flash would go off from someone's camera.
It looked a little like there were tiny firecrackers going off, but without the sound.
"Look how many people are over there," Page murmured, "Let's not go over there."
"Agreed, "I said, "We can go over the bridge before it. There's never people on that one."
"The one that leads to the rail that takes you up the hill."
"Yeah," I said, walking ahead, "That one, but we don't have to go up there if you don't want to."
"I'll see," she shrugged, catching up to me and putting her arm through mine.
We walked near the railing and both looked over the slow moving river.
On the other side, where the cobble stones stopped and a beige beach was, were many geese.
There were ten or so people feeding them cheap bread and the geese were everywhere.
"We could check that out if Page is up for it," I thought, "We'll just have to see."
As we crossed the bridge, we moved through a large group of italian tourists.
They were taking a large group photo with the bridge behind them and we had to wait.
A tram rumbled past us, startling Page.
"Jesus!" she screamed, "I thought that thing was going to hit us."
I laughed, "You're so damned jumpy."
"No I'm not. I just get scared easily when I'm hungover or tired."
The Italians had finished taking their picture and we walked in front of them.
"I wish you would have brought your camera," I said, looking at the Charles bridge.
"Me too, but the light isn't that good."
"Really?" I asked. I didn't know anything about photography other than to point and shoot.
"Yep. Too dark." Page had done some photography in college for sports and concerts.
I looked up into the sky and saw that the sun was just starting to come out.
It was about 1:30 in the afternoon and I noticed that this was the time the sun would show - if at all.
We went down a flight of steps that lead to where an abandoned green house stood.
There was nothing inside but broken clay pots and trash.
The windows were stained with streaks of dirt, bird shit, and thin vines that crept up to the ceiling.
As we walked in, there was another couple taking pictures of the glass.
There was another group huddled in a corner in a circle drinking beer and smoking.
They were laughing about something and I was hoping it wasn't us.
Other than the clay pots and trash, there was nothing else inside - not even planter's boxes.
From the looks of it, the place had been raided and ransacked a long time ago.
What anyone could get from a few splintered pieces of wood and dead plants, I had no idea.
We walked through the greenhouse in five minutes and to the edge where the path ended.
The ground was wet and muddy. I put out my hand so Page could take it as she walked.
We tip toed to the very edge as the water lapped up against the tips of our shoes.
In front of us, paddle boats floated atop the water, their driver's peddling wearily along.
"We should do that one of these days," I told Page, "It looks fun."
"Look at them," Page laughed, pointing, "Do they look like they're having fun?"
I looked at the paddle boat she had pointed to.
The peddler looked to be exhausted, sweating, and out of breath.
The passenger - who looked to be his girlfriend - had her head tilted back, looking up at the sky.
"Well," I said, "That wouldn't be us. We would take turns."
"Why?" she asked, stepping backward to get out of the mud, "You're stronger than me."
"And that makes me be the slave, paddling you around?"
"No," she said, "That makes you the gentlemen. Chivalry or whatever it's called."
"Sounds like a bunch of a bullshit. Look at that poor guy. He looks like he's about to pass out."
Page laughed loudly and was making her way back to the stairs.
I squinted my eyes and stared at the paddle boat with the couple inside.
"Poor bastard," I thought, "Guy doesn't stand a chance...he'll never make it out alive."
After crossing the bridge, Page stopped to get a bag of potato chips.
Whenever she was hungover or tired or both, she would inhale potato chips.
I would give her a lot of shit for it, but I would have a couple, and she would dish it right back.
The sun was out now, but a wind blew past, reminding us that it was still cold.
I wanted to make it down to the edge of the water where I had seen the geese.
Pages teeth were chattering again and I looked down at both of our shoes, which were wet.
I knew of a cafe on the way to the castle, only a couple blocks away.
One of those places that is never crowded, serves good, cheap hot food, and is all wood inside.
I could never remember the name of it, but I knew they served this stuff called Red Velvet beer.
It wasn't so high in alcohol that you would get very drunk, but you would definitely feel it a little.
I liked to go there when I was hungover to take the edge off or have a drink and not get drunk.
Page had finished her potato chips and jammed the empty bag in her purse.
She could finish a bag of those things in a minute flat. I'm not joking. She loved those things.
"It's 2 o'clock," I said to Page, "Let's get a drink at that place that serves the velvet beer."
"It's so expensive though." To her credit, it was pretty expensive, but I saw no other options.
"Only 60 crown," I told her, "We can afford that."
"You can?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, "How?"
"I borrowed some money from my mom for rent and VISA stuff. She let me have a little extra."
"Yeah. I think she feels bad that we don't have a lot right now and we are traveling."
"That's so nice," she mused, "I always feel so awkward asking for money."
"Let's walk and talk. I'm getting cold from being outside so long."
"Good idea," Page said, walking with me, "I'm freeeeezing."
I put my arm around her and rocked her back and forth, trying to warm her up.
"It's not workiiiiiing," she said, rubbing her hands together.
I sighed and unwrapped my arm around her shoulder, defeated.
"Hey!" she screeched, jokingly, "Put that thing back around me! Why'd you do that?"
"You said it wasn't working, so I took it off," I said flatly.
"I was kidding," she said, "It was working." She took my arm and wrapped it around herself.
Page was so crazy when she was cold. She turned into a different person entirely.
We walked like that for a little while until my arm got tired and I swept it off of her.
As we made our way to the velvet beer, we looked up into the hills.
It was wide and light green, with hundreds of apple trees lined up, one behind the other.
I had heard the hills were once used to grow grapes and that the wine they made was very good.
Mostly whites, with a light and clear taste, and so fresh it felt like you were drinking spring water.
I had only had that kind of once, at a party if I remember right, and I drank the whole bottle.
The wine hadn't got me drunk, just nice and lucid and sharp, like good alcohol does.
I pointed up the hill to show Page where they were still growing grapes.
She stopped and crossed the street and went down an alley to get a better look of the hill.
I followed behind her, watching her move through the tourists and down the alley.
We passed an old antiques glassware shop and a modern thai restaurant that looked to be closed.
The streets were slick and wet from the mist that hung above our heads.
Coming up from the other side of the alley, we got a wider view of it all.
It was very beautiful, the hill, especially with the gray fog hovering behind.
The dark lime green of the hill and the sky clashed in front of us.
"How would anyone ever maintain this place?" Page asked out loud.
"I have no idea. It would take a lot of work, though."
"Going up and down those hills everyday, cutting all that grass."
"And pruning those apple trees, too," I said.
"Those are apple trees?" Page asked, excited.
"I think so, " I said, putting my hand over my eyes, straining to see better, "I see little balls in them."
"Let's go get some!"
"They're probably not even ripe yet and they're all the way up the hill..."
But, she was already gone, running up the steep path to where the trees stood.
"What about the velvet beer!" I shouted at her.
"It'll be there when we get there," she yelled back at me, "It's not going anywhere."
I slowly started walking up the hill, "You have a point," I mumbled.
I had never seen her run so fast for anything.
Page was up the hill in three minutes, where it took me ten to walk up.
When I got to her, she already had ten bright green and red apples in her arms.
I got closer and saw she had about five in her purse.
Her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling like mad as she washed them in the wet grass.
I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her, nearly making her drop everything.
Page leaned her head back on my shoulder and we both looked up in the sky.
"Your'e so cold," I whispered behind her ear, swaying back and forth.
"My feet are freezing," she chattered. I looked down at her leather boots and they were soaked.
"Well, you ran up that hill like a rabbit in the tall grass. What'd you think was gonna' happen?"
"I just wanted the apples," she said like a child: innocent, guilty, and playful.
"I just wanted the apples," I repeated, mocking her smiling.
She wiggled out of my arms, swung around and looked at me, her eyes wide. She paused.
I started laughing. There was nothing else I could do.
"Don't mock me!" she screamed, "I'm just playing around. You're always so serious."
She had backed away from me a little and I followed her. I felt like she was going to run away.
"I was kidding," I tried to tell her, "I was only poking fun because you sounded like a little kid."
"No, I didn't," she pouted, looking at all of the apples in her arms.
"I'm pretty sure you were." I tip toed towards her, my arms wide open.
She fell into them and nestled into my chest, "You're always so warm. Why are you always warm?"
"Blood flow," I explained, making it up, "That and I drink too much."
She didn't say anything, giving me all her weight.
I took it all and leaned back on my heels and we stood like that for a long time.
As we made our way down the hill, we bought a plastic bag for the apples in a small shop.
Page dropped them all inside and the store clerk laughed when we did it at the counter.
"What are you going to do with all those apples?" I asked her as we walked down the sidewalk.
"Eat them!" she yelled, "These are ripe and ready to eat. I just need to wash them better."
"Why?" I said, "They look fine to me."
"I just washed them in the grass. Look, "She took an apple out of the bag, "This one's got dirt on it."
I looked down at it and there was a dry patch of dirt covering the whole of one side.
"Gross," I grunted, "You'll definitely need to wash all of them again."
"That's what I'm saying." She popped the apple back in the bag as we reached the front of the bar.
We scanned the menu and saw the food was relatively cheap.
French fries or hranolky was only 35 crown and the meals were around 115.
"Are you hungry?" I asked Page, as we walked in.
"I want some hranolky." She was taking her coat off and sliding into the booth.
I slid in behind her and we sat together, shoulder to shoulder, looking over the menu.
No one had greeted us as we walked in. Only the bartender who had nodded and smiled.
I didn't see any server's to order a drink, but knew it was bad custom to order from the bar.
Eventually, the bartender came over to take our order. He told us the waitress was on a break.
"Va velvet pivo, prosim," I told him.
He smiled and walked away, probably thinking my czech was that of a four year old.
An impossible language, especially for an American. So many tiny nuances of the mouth.
"What'd you think of my czech?"
"Pretty good," Page said, "Much better than mine."
"Yeah. Any czech I try to talk to has absolutely no idea what I'm trying to ask them."
"It's so embarrassing," I sighed, putting the menu down, "I wish I was better prepared."
"We just moved here," Page said, trying to comfort me, "You'll get better."
"Do you know what you want?"
"Yep," she said, pointing to the menu, which was glossy and clean, "French fries and veggies."
"Where's that?" I took the menu in my hand, "The veggie part."
"Somewhere in appetizers. It's cheap, like 20 crown or something."
"I'm gonna stick with beer," I said, "Not too hungry."
"No," she moaned, looking at me, "If you don't get anything, you'll eat mine. I won't have it."
"Huh?" I asked, feigning ignorance, "I never do that."
"You always do that," she said, "Every time we eat out you either eat the scraps or eat mine."
"Fine," I said, taking up the menu, "I'll get a sandwich or potatoes or something."
"I'll get a chicken sandwich and eat half now, half later. It's only 115 crown."
"Get it!" she shouted, laughing.
There was no other customers in the bar except for us and it was very peaceful and secluded
We sat back against the wooden bench and looked around the velvet bar.
The kitchen was behind a swiveling half-door and a looked to be no bigger than a walk in closet.
I leaned over Page to see who was in there.
Two older woman, both leaning back against the stove, were standing there and chatting.
Short and fat, they stood there like some form of gatekeeper's.
They looked be very bored, yet very content with having nothing to do.
I felt bad we were about to order food and interrupt whatever they were talking about.
Page was gazing out the window, most likely looking for passer by dogs.
She loved dogs and anytime she could get a glance at one, she would scream, "Look at that DOG!"
Ever since we met, she talked about getting one for us, but it was impossible.
No place we ever moved into would ever let us have one. It was kind of sad, if you think about it.
"Va velet piva," the bartender said, placing the two beers down in front of us on coasters.
They were a golden, burgundy color behind the glass and the foam on top was a creamy beige.
"And anything to order for food?" he asked us, switching over to English.
"Chicken sandwich for me," I said.
"Hranolky and..." Page paused, awkwardly reaching for the menu, "Zelenina."
The bartender laughed," The vegetable platter or plate?"
"Which one's cheaper?" I asked, laughing with him.
"The plate is good for two people, unless you are very hungry?"
I looked at Page, who shrugged back at me, "Plate will be fine," I told him.
"Plate of zelenina, hranolky, and kuřecí sandwich," the bartender said back to us.
"Perfect," I said, nodding and handing him the menu's, "Děkuji."
"Prosim," he said, and walked to the kitchen to put in the order.
"That's what the word for chicken is," I said to page after a moment, "Kuřecí."
"Gah, I can barely say that. Kur - jet - see...I know that's wrong."
"We'll get it," I told her, "One of these days we'll say chicken, pig, and vegetables no problem."
Page took off her scarf, which she had wrapped around her neck, and laid it on her lap.
I kept repeating kuřecí under my breath, really trying to get it right.
Eventually, Page made me stop and we sat again in silence, waiting for our food, hand in hand.
The bartender had started the small gas fireplace near the door.
I leaned my elbows on the table and took out a tattered tourists map of Prague.
The corners were ripped and frayed, but only the legend was missing, which I already knew.
Scanning over the length of it, I tried to find a small side street we could get lost in later on.
Page had leaned her head back on the hard wooden bench and closed her eyes.
She tried to get herself comfortable by wiggling and rocking in her seat.
The bench creaked from her movement and I laughed under my breath.
"Why are you laughing?" she asked me, looking over at me with one eye.
"Nothing," I told her, lying.
"You're laughing at something. I can tell."
"You're making the bench creak with all that moving around you're doing."
She sighed and moaned and leaned forward, "I can't get comfortable in these things."
"They're not meant to be comfortable," I told her, "It's that old, gothic, medieval look."
"That's stupid."
"I agree completely. My back is killing me, but we've already ordered and can't go anywhere."
"Maybe I can ask for a cushion..." she said out loud, raising her hand to catch the waiter.
"No! Don't," I hissed, but the waiter had already seen her and was coming over.
"Yes?" he asked. His face was taught and worried that we needed something extra...
Page smiled at him and said, "Do you have a cushion or anything here? The seat is very hard."
I looked away - anywhere - out the window, down to the floor, trying to keep my gaze away.
"Of course," the bartender said, sounding relieved, "Is the seat very hard?"
"Yes," Page laughed, embarrassed, "I just can't seem to get comfortable."
"I'll get you one from behind the bar. Just a moment."
He hurried behind the beer tap, grabbed two cushions, and brought them over.
"Here you go," he grinned, handing Page and I one.
"Děkuji," we said together, both of us blushing.
"Prosím," he smiled and turned to go to the kitchen to check on the food.
I exhaled, laughing a little, and took a drink of my beer.
It tasted warm, crisp and full as the bubbling foam came up and over onto my lips.
"What?" Page asked, innocent, like nothing had happened.
I paused, then asked her, "How's your cushion?"
"How's yours?" she asked, looking forward, the glass of beer in her hand.
"Like a cloud has just floated underneath my butt, to tell you the truth. I'm hovering."
"Me too. I'm glad I asked. What was the big deal?"
"I just don't like to ask too much in these kind of places."
"Why?" She had turned to look at me and was genuinely worried; her eyes were wide and white.
"Because we are obviously not from around here and I don't want to annoy anybody."
"By asking them for cushions?"
"Yeah," I said, "And speaking in English and juggling around what we wanted."
"Is it that bad?" From the look on her face, I could see she was starting to understand.
"Not bad," I put my arm around her shoulder, "I don't want to be a bother to any of the locals."
"I see what you mean," she said, leaning into me, "But I don't think it was really that big a deal."
"It wasn't, really. I just don't like to inconvenience anyone."
"I know what you mean. It is a very awkward feeling."
"Especially when you don't know the language at all," I sighed, "I wished I did."
"Me too," she agreed, "Oh! Here comes the food."
She moved away from me and settled in her cushion, acting like she hadn't seen the food.
We were still the only one's in the place. There was really no way we wouldn't have seen it.
"Zelenina a hranolky," the waiter said, putting the food down, "A kuřecí sendvič."
He was humoring us, but we acted like we knew what he was saying anyway.
I raised my hand for the chicken and Page for everything else.
"Děkuji," we both said again. I felt like that was really the only word we knew.
"Prosím," he nodded, "Anything else?"
I shook my head, my sandwich already in my hands, "Perfect. Everything looks perfect."
He chuckled, "Perfect," he nodded and went back behind the bar.
After a few bites, I put my sandwich down and leaned over where Page was eating.
Not to say anything to her - she was too preoccupied with her food - but to see into the kitchen.
The two, short ladies were still there, but now one was sitting on a large, wooden crate.
It looked to be some kind of meat or vegetable box. The lettering on it, I couldn't understand.
The other was smoking a cigarette and scratching the back of her head where the hairnet tangled.
As I was looked over, the one on the crate caught my eye and quickly looked over her shoulder.
She said something quickly and the other one looked over at me too.
For just a second, the three of us were locked in stare.
Not a one of us knew what the other was thinking.
Page sat there eating away not caring about anything other than the food in front of her.
The second passed and the lady smoking dropped it in the sink and pulled the water on.
The other got up from her seat and began to violently scrub the grill with a metal sponge.
I - unsure why they started to do any of those things on my account - went back to my sandwich.
The bill came and it was less then I thought, which I always love.
"How'd you like the food?" I asked Page. She was putting her coat back on.
"It's freezing in here again. How did that happen?" She hadn't heard me.
"No idea. How'd you like the food, though?" I repeated.
"It was good. They were crispy and greasy, just what I needed."
"Good," I said as I looked over the bill, "What about the veggies?"
"Superb," she exaggerated by kissing her fingers and flaring them out into the air.
"Good, good. Looks like you owe me around 120 crown for everything."
"That's cheap!" she exclaimed, "I thought I was going to have to spend more then 200."
"Me too," I said, taking out my wallet, "I only spent 200 but I got a sandwich and a beer."
"And some of my fries," she mumbled.
"You wanted to eat all of them by yourself?"
She hated it whenever I took any of her food.
"It's just annoying," she explained.
"I'm sorry," I said, licking my fingertips, "I guess I don't think about it."
"It's O.K." She took out her wallet and dropped a 100 crown bill and a 50 crown coin.
"You're tipping?" It was customary that you didn't have to tip the waiters.
"Yeah. He gave us the cushions and looks like they're pretty dead."
"You're right. I should tip. How much do you think?"
"Like 50 for you."
I looked at the bill and tried to figure the percentage out in my head.
"Fuck it," I said and put a 200 crown bill and two 20 crown coins on top of Page's money.
Page brought the bill and money up to the waiter who stood behind the bar as I put on my coat.
My chest felt tight and my hands were cold after being heated up by the food.
I watched as Page tried to say thank you in czech and smiled; she'd get it eventually.
She came up to me, shaking her head, "I gotta' get better at czech."
"Why's that?" I asked her, putting my arm around her shoulder, walking out the door.
A wind hit us as we walked outside and we moved closer to one another.
"It's just so embarrassing when you're trying to say something and you can't."
"I'm sure they get it all the time. Don't worry."
We walked across the street and looked down an alleyway that looked to open up into a park.
"Do you want to walk through there?" I asked Page. Her scarf was wrapped around her mouth.
She nodded and quickly ducked into the alleyway in front of me.
I let her walk in front of me and noticed the cracked, light beige color of the walls on either side.
They looked like they'd never been repainted.
From the roof, water dripped down from various places.
Upon a closer look, I saw a large bird's nest in the gutter rail.
Nothing seemed to be inside. Only the twigs and dead grass sat there.
Further down, I winced as the cream colored wall was interrupted by black and neon green graffiti.
For the first time, I understood why it was illegal.
The act itself seemed so selfish, yet I understood why the art had become popular.
There was a mixture of defiance, rebellion, and the ignorance of youth, as well as danger.
Pondering this, I figured someone would come and paint over it eventually.
Nothing stays the same forever.
At the end of the alley, we walked onto a wide, square lawn.
On the other end, where two benches sat apart, was an old couple, bundled up with a newspaper.
The other bench was empty and Page and I walked toward it.
We turned and sat down, looking out onto the empty green grass.
Page wrapped her arm under mine and gripped both of my hands with her's.
"You're so warm," she shivered, "Why are you always so hot and I'm always so collld."
"I have no idea," I stated, "Maybe because I'm bigger and I drink more then you?"
The logic seemed right.
"And you're Mexican. That's probably why you're always so warm."
"I'm Spanish too," I reminded her.
"You've got that hot blooded temper in you."
"That's true. I do get pretty mad pretty fast."
"Yeah. It's scary."
"Really?" I asked. I looked at Page and could see she wasn't joking.
"Sometimes you get really mad and get a little afraid of you."
"Like I'm going to do something?"
Shame and guilt swept over me like an icy wind.
"I don't know. Nothing like that, but," she paused, "I don't know. It's hard to explain."
"Well, I would never do anything like that. I just get mad sometimes."
"I know you do. So do I. You just get mad more often, that's all."
"I need to get better with that," I said to myself, looking over at the old couple on the other bench.
One looked to be asleep and the other one, who wore a black beanie, was still reading.
"I'll get better," I told myself.
"You will," Page said, getting up, "We both will."
I put out my hand for her to take it.
She did, pulling me up to her.
I jokingly fell into her arms, giving her my full weight.
She barely was able to hold me up.
"Jesus, you're heavy," she said, pushing me up to my feet.
"I'm not that heavy," I said, nodding to the old couple on the bench.
We crossed over a bridge and stopped to watch the fire colored leaves float on the water.
I could see small fishes swimming downstream, but Page couldn't see them.
Trying to point them out, I hoisted her over the banister, and she nearly fell in.
"That would have been awful," she exhaled, "I probably would have died."
"I don't think I would have jumped in to get you."
She stopped and looked at me, her lower lip jutted out, "Are you serious?"
I looked at her and shrugged, "That's a big fall and the water is pretty shallow."
"You wouldn't come get me!?" shouted Page, poking me in the stomach.
I backed away from her, laughing, "Of course I would. Of course I would."
"You'd better. If I die, you have to die with me."
I scoffed and ran my fingers over my face, then through my hair, "Yeesh, that's heavy."
"It's true," said Page simply, "I die, you die."
She walked ahead of me, down another alley to get lost in.
Eventually, after shouldering through tourists and novelty shops, we came to the clock tower.
It was about 4 o'clock, a little past, and we had just missed the show.
I wasn't sure what it was about, something to do with money and death, but I wasn't sure.
The golden symbols on the clock reflected the light of the sun down onto the wet cobble stone.
I turned to look at the crowd behind me; there were hundreds of them, their flashes popping.
Page was closer, looking up and studying the large, rusted hands of the clock.
They looked like they were barely moving, almost as if time had stopped after the show.
I walked toward her, also looking up, and saw various bodies leaning out of the tower skyward.
They were so high up and I couldn't make their faces out; only flailing arms and distant voices.
When I reached Page, a trumpet sounded from the tower and everyone on the street looked up.
"You know what this is about?" I asked Page.
"No idea. I wish I had brought my camera."
"Why?" She rarely brought her camera anywhere and I was confused why she wanted it now.
"Because you're supposed to take pictures of these things," she shot back.
"Why?" I asked again.
"Shhh," she hushed, "I want to hear this."
The trumpet player sounded like duck being strangled and I couldn't stand it.
I whispered into Page's ear that I was going to get a coffee.
"Get me one too, please," she said.
She placed a fifty crown coin in my hand without looking away from the trumpet player.
I kissed her on the cheek, trying to hide my confused frustration, and moved through the crowd.
"For such a serene place," I thought, "It sure attracts a good amount of freaks."
"Hello," I said to barista behind the counter.
I decided to forfeit speaking czech for the moment.
"Hi," she said. The sides of her face were flushed red and I realized it was freezing inside.
"It's really cold in here," I said, looking around for some kind of heating.
"Prosím?" she asked me, then stuttered and asked again in English, "Sorry...excuse me?"
"Sorry, I don't speak any czech. I said it's very cold in here."
"Yes. Heat is broken." She pointed upward at the ceiling and frowned.
"That's too bad," I said, "They should get on that. It's very cold."
She smiled blankly and stared back at me, unsure what I wanted.
"Oh," I smiled, shaking my head, "I need to order."
She laughed, but didn't say anything and looked at the other barista's. They grinned back at her.
"Uhh...one medium drip coffee and a cafe au lait, please."
"Ok," she mouthed, poking the computer screen in front of her happily, "Anything else?"
"Oh," I started, "Can you make the cafe au lait with soy milk instead of regular."
"Yes," with a swipe and another poke, "Anything else?"
"I think that'll be it." I hand her my czech debit card.
She looked down at it and up and me. Maybe she thought I didn't look like my name.
She paused a moment more, then swiped it and handed it back to me.
"Thank you very much," she said, looking over my shoulder, "Your order will be ready soon."
I was brushed to the side and thrown into a field of other tourists, all rubbing their hands together.
It didn't take very long for me to get the drinks.
That surprised me.
Those czechs know how to make a good, quick cup of coffee.
I smiled at the barista who had helped me, but she didn't see me doing it.
Hate it when that happens.
You always look like some desperate kind of creep, hoping for a scrap of acknowledgement.
She was probably too busy to notice me.
Maybe she did and just wasn't able to smile back.
She was with a customer.
I wouldn't want her to get in trouble, anyways.
We were in the center of the square.
It probably paid pretty well.
I wouldn't want her to lose her job on account of a smile.
That would be terrible.
"Cafe au lait with soy milk for you," I said, handing the drink to Page.
"With soy!" she exclaimed, "That's so nice. Did it cost more?"
"Like ten crowns," I lied, "I know that you like it and I like getting you what you like."
"That's so nice," she gave me a kiss and smiled, "Was it busy in there?"
"Very," I said, "And freezing cold."
"Heating was broken."
"Oh God," Page sighed, "I'm glad I didn't go in there."
We made our way to the main square, away from the clock tower.
The crowd had dispersed and the streets were almost empty again.
When we got into the alley's though, everything seemed narrow and pinched.
On every corner, there were peddlers flapping around opera and ballet flyer's.
I snagged one and looked it over.
"Good God! They want 500 crown for something like this."
"Let me see," Page said, taking it from my hand.
"And all you probably do is sit in an old church and listen to the echo of singing."
"It's a tourist thing," she explained, "What do you expect?"
Page crumpled up the flyer and tossed it in the trash, "I do feel bad for those people."
"The people that have to hand out those flyer's all day. That must be tough."
Page was always thinking about the people with shit jobs.
Whenever we would see a trash guy looting garbage cans or waiter's getting hassled, she'd cringe.
I knew why to: she'd had plenty of shit jobs in the past
Waitress was one. Bar back another. I knew she worked in a hospital at one point. Late hours.
"Maybe that's why she was going with me?" I wondered, "I've had a lot of those."
"Yeah," I replied, "They have it pretty rough, especially when it's so cold out."
"I would die," said Page. Her voice was scared and grateful.
We walked up the hill into the main center of town in the middle walk way near the gardens.
All the plants and flowers were dead now, but there was no trash or anything like that there.
I decided we should walk in the center to avoid the club promoters and heavy foot traffic.
Any more tourists elbowing me or people trying to hand me pamphlets would have done me in.
As we continued up the hill, I stopped and turned around to see the view of the city buildings.
Bright neon signs flashed, mixed with large billboards of chiseled women wearing dead faces.
Store window mannequins stood poised and ready to sell to passerby's in mute.
Because we seemed to be so far up, both sides of the side walks seethed with tiny black dots.
Flashes of cameras and the low hum of everyone talking at once filled the wide square.
And witnessing all of this hysteria, were the original buildings, stoic and ancient behind it all.
I had seen pictures of the square in the 1920's and before, and everything was so perfectly simple.
The walls of the buildings were cracked and worn, but standing with pride and originality.
They had nothing hanging or beeping or demanding people's attention.
A window here or there would display what they sold, but all in modesty and class.
If the two pictures were put together, I don't believe any resemblance could be found.
The only thing one could possibly recognize is the architecture of the buildings and the square.
Stripped and sacrificed, the buildings stood there like dolled up relics, too tired to breathe.
Page and I couldn't walk in the center of the square any longer because it opened up into the street.
We were forced to cross and enter into the surging fray of bodies going up and down.
The metro tunnel shot stale, damp air up and out of the stairwell, smelling of fresh urine.
Page hurried past me and up toward the crosswalk, but I stopped and watched two cops.
They had their doberman pincher sniffing a pair of hobo's leaning against a crooked tree.
The two being sniffed out stood there shaking and wondering what the hell was going on.
I'm sure they had something on them that was illegal, but what it was, I had no idea.
The dog sure did though. He wouldn't let them be and the cops just stood back, staring.
But, after a minute, the dog lost its scent or interest and sauntered back and laid down.
"Too bad," I mused, pensively, "I would have liked to see an arrest in broad day light."
Page had just started to cross the street without me and I ran up to her and took her arm.
"Where you going so fast? You trying to get rid of me?"
She just shook her head and looked ahead. I could see she was so cold she had turned mute.
"Did you see that dog sniffing out those two junkies?" I looked over my shoulder toward them.
Page shook her head back and forth, no.
The both of us walked up a yellow and orange leaf covered hill and down into a tunnel.
To the left of us was a large mural of graffiti and names I would never be able to pronounce.
To the right was a pizza booth, some kind of italian sandwich bistro, and a Russian shop.
We stopped in front of the Russian place and noticed a tiny window with a woman's head inside.
There were glistening pink sausages, pickled neon orange carrots, and bright red peppers.
A single knife hung by a piano string hung behind the woman, swinging back and forth.
Nothing looked like it had been touched.
Nothing looked like it had been sold.
Everything looked like it probably had since they had opened shop 657 years ago to the day.
The old woman said something to Page and pointed to a jar, but she smiled, laughed, and ran off.
"Děkuji," I smiled, embarrassed that I didn't know it in Russian.
I ran up behind Page again, who was up the ramp from the tunnel and on the sidewalk now.
As we walked up into Prague 2 and Vyšehrad, the sun was just beginning to set.
I stopped, Page continuing on, and turned around to see the expanse of the city.
People passed me as I looked at the clock tower and where the Charles Bridge was hiding.
I couldn't see the castle, but I knew it stood there behind the building beside me.
They lit the castle up every night and I wished at that moment Page and I could watch it.
To be within those walls and underneath the ancient cathedral going from darkness to the light.
Turning, I started up the hill, following up behind Page once again.
The 22 tram rambled past us, but we were late to jump on and ride it to our stop.
"We are so close anyway," I comforted Page, "Two blocks."
"So collld," she shivered, "I just want to be in our bed with the covers all around me."
I put my arm around her, "Almost there."
We walked like that, holding in our heat, until we reached the potraviny across from our house.
"We should really get something to eat," said Page, "We aren't going to want to come back out."
"Yes..." I agreed, "But what?"
"Shitty noodles?"
My stomach reacted in both pain and pleasure. I liked them, if I'm being honest.
"Does sound good," I said, weighing other possibilities, "Do we feel like cooking?"
I took out my phone and checked the time.
It was only 5:30 and we would be in the rest of the night.
"We should cook something," I said.
"Like what?" asked Page.
"I know of this cheap potato soup recipe with chives, milk, and salt. It's simple, but good."
She put 60 crowns in my hand," Sounds good to me. I'm going to go upstairs."
"What?" I asked, looking down at the coins.
"It's so cold, I can't stand it. I need to get upstairs where it's warrrm."
She smiled and ran across the street and into our apartment building.
I went inside, grabbed a sack of potatoes, a plastic jug of milk, and some chives and paid.
As I waited for the elevator, I struggled to remember the exact way to cook what I said I could.
Page wouldn't notice the difference either way.
As long as it was warm, didn't taste like cardboard, and had some salt on it, she'd be fine.
The meal was good.
It warmed our stomachs and there were leftovers for tomorrow.
We ate in bed and laid our only two bath towels down where we sat.
For some reason, Page lit two candles and sat them on the window sill.
Across the street, spotted windows were warm from the lights burning inside.
Everyone was tucked away, hiding from the cold and the approaching dawn of the day.
I looked at Page in the candlelight, watching her eat, seeing shadows dance across her cheeks.
Her beauty was as simple as a flower petal, yet complex as a painting.
There are so many other things that I am at a lost to remember, now.
They are somewhere inside of me, hiding, elusive, and wondering when I will find them.
As I took a bite of my potato mush, I warned myself not to get too sentimental.
"You know the one thing we forgot to do today?" I asked Page.
"What's that?"
"We forgot to look for jobs."
"Well," she sighed, "We were just too busy with other things."
"What other things?" I asked.
"Breakfast, the walk, the bridge, the bar, the beer, the park, the clock, and the square."
"We did a lot today."
"Yes," said Page, "Too much. And to add job searching on top of that? Forget about it."
I no longer felt guilty about not even once looking for some kind of job prospect.
"What's that saying?" asked Page.
I noticed her bowl was clean as she placed it on the floor.
"Hm?" I asked.
"There's this saying...there's always tomorrow. Is that a saying?"
"I feel like I've heard it," I struggled, trying to remember, but failing, "Somewhere, some place."
"Well," Page said, turning herself from the towel and laying back, "There's always tomorrow."
I put my bowl on the night stand and laid back with Page.
We kissed and held each other, not caring about tomorrow, only trying to get warm.
Page slowly drifted into sleep and I let her head roll and fall onto my chest.
The two erect flames of the candles stood reflected onto the window overlooking the night sky.
I too laid my head back, closed my eyes, and fell asleep with the weight of Page upon me.


text:
December 2013
Dec 12 @ 12:00 pm – 1:00 pm
Are you interested in a degree or obtaining career development in Human Services? Our Human Services webinar will offer you an opportunity to learn about one of our newest degree offerings and how it will assist you reach your career goals. A School of Liberal Arts representative and Heather Rooney, Partnership Development Specialist, will provide you with information about our degree offerings, resources and our partnership programs and how they will assist you in achieving your educational goals.
Register: https://echumanservices.eventbrite.com/

subset: commoncrawl


text:
IPv4 v. IPv6 – What's the Difference?
By Kevin Hazard in Infrastructure, SoftLayer, TechnologyAbout a year ago, Phil Jackson and I recorded a podcast-esque click-through of a presentation that explained the difference between IPv4 and IPv6 address space, and as a testament to the long-tail nature of blog posts, Internet Society's Deploy360 Blog shared the video. With a hint of nostalgia, I clicked "play" on the video.
I laughed. I cried. I found it informative. I noticed a few places where it could have been better.
We recorded the video in response to a tweet from one of our Twitter followers, and the off-the-cuff dialog wound up being somewhere in between "accessible, informative and funny" and "overly detailed, too long and obviously improvised." Because there aren't many people who want to listen to two guys give a 15-minute presentation on IP addresses when they could be watching a Songified review of Five Guys Burgers and Fries or an epic data center tour, I thought I'd dilute the information from the video into a quick blog post that spells out some of the major distinctions between IPv4 and IPv6 so you can scan it, interject your own "witty" banter and have your favorite YouTube viral video playing in the background.
IP Address Overview
An IP address is like a telephone number or a street address. When you connect to the Internet, your device (computer, smartphone, tablet) is assigned an IP address, and any site you visit has an IP address. The IP addressing system we've been using since the birth of the Internet is called IPv4, and the new addressing system is called IPv6. The reason we have to supplement the IPv4 address system (and ultimately eclipse it) with IPv6 is because the Internet is running out of available IPv4 address space, and IPv6 provides is an exponentially larger pool of IP addresses … Let's look at the numbers:
- Total IPv4 Space: 4,294,967,296 addresses
- Total IPv6 Space: 340,282,366,920,938,463,463,374,607,431,768,211,456 addresses
Even saying the IPv6 space is "exponentially larger" doesn't really paint the picture of the difference in size.
IPv4 Addresses
To understand why the IPv4 address space is limited to four billion addresses, we can break down an IPv4 address. An IPv4 address is a 32-bit number made up of four octets (8-bit numbers) in decimal notation, separated by periods. A bit can either be a 1 or a 0 (2 possibilities), so the decimal notation of an octet would have 28 distinct possibilities — 256 of them, to be exact. Because we start numbering at 0, the possible values of one an octet in an IPv4 address go from 0 to 255.
Examples of IPv4 Addresses: 192.168.0.1, 188.8.131.52, 18.104.22.168
If an IPv4 address is made up of four sections with 256 possibilities in each section, to find the total number of possibilities in the entire IPv4 pool, you'd just multiply 256*256*256*256 to get to the 4,294,967,296 number. To look at it another way, you've got 32 bits, so 232 will get you to the same total.
IPv6 Addresses
IPv6 addresses are based on 128 bits. Using the same math as above, we can take 2128 and find the total IPv6 address pool (which I won't copy again here because it takes up too much space). Because the IPv6 pool is so much larger than the IPv4 pool, it'd be much more difficult to define the space in the same decimal notation … you'd have 232 possibilities in each section.
To allow for that massive IPv6 pool to be used a little more easily, IPv6 addresses are broken down into eight 16-bit sections, separated by colons. Because each section is 16 bits, it can have 216 variations (65,536 distinct possibilities). Using decimal numbers between 0 and 65,535 would still be pretty long-winded, so IPv6 addresses are expressed with hexadecimal notation (16 different characters: 0-9 and a-f).
Example of an IPv6 Addresses: 2607:f0d0:4545:3:200:f8ff:fe21:67cf
That's still a mouthful, but it's a little more manageable than the decimal alternatives.
CIDR Slash (/) Notation
When people talk about blocks of IP addresses, they generally use CIDR Slash (/) Notation where the block might look like this: 192.0.2.0/24 … When you glance at that number, you might assume, "Okay, so you have 192.0.2.0 through 192.0.2.24," but CIDR notation is not showing you the range of addresses, it's telling you the size of the "network" part of the allocation.
IP addresses are made up two parts — the network and the host. The "network" part of the address tells us the number of bits that stay the same at the beginning of the block of IPs, while the "host" part of the address are the bits that define the different possibilities of IP addresses in the block. In CIDR notation, a /24 is telling us that the first 24 bits of the address are defined by the network, so we have 8 bits (32 total bits minus 24 network bits) in the host — 28 is 256 distinct addresses. The 192.0.2.0/24 IPv4 address block includes 192.0.2.0 to 192.0.2.255.
IPv4 address blocks can be as large as a /8 (given to regional registries like ARIN and APNIC), and they can be as small as a /32 (which is a single IP address).
Why Provision So Many IPv6 Addresses?
When SoftLayer provisions an IPv6 address block on a server, we give a /64 block of IPv6 addresses … Or 18,446,744,073,709,551,616 IPv6 addresses to each server. That number seems excessive, but the /64 block size is the "smallest" IPv6 allocation block.
Providers like SoftLayer are allocated /32 blocks of IPv6 addresses. The difference between a /32 and a /64 is 32 bits (232) … Bonus points if you can remember where you've seen that number before. What that means is that SoftLayer is given a block of IP addresses so large that we could provision 4,294,967,296 /64 blocks of IPv6 addresses … Or put more remarkably: In one /32 block of IPv6 space, there are the same number of /64 blocks of IPv6 addresses as there are TOTAL IPv4 addresses.
So while it's pretty impossible to use a full /64 of IPv6 addresses on a server, it's equally difficult for SoftLayer to burn through its /32 block.
So Now What?
IPv4 space is running out quickly. If your site isn't running a dual-stack IPv6 configuration yet, it's possible that you're going to start missing traffic from users who are only able to access the Internet over IPv6 (which is not backwards compatible with IPv4). If your Internet Service Provider (ISP) doesn't support IPv6 yet, you won't be able to access websites that are broadcast only with IPv6 addresses.
The percentage of instances of each of those cases is relatively small, but it's only going to get larger … And it only takes one missed customer to make you regret not taking the steps to incorporate IPv6 into your infrastructure.


text:
What if the fantastic four turned against each other and battled, who would win.
torch cause just super nova and they are all out i mean iw would last but eventually her shield would go down
Invisible Woman would curbstomp the other three.
Man i love human torch but i got to give this to sue
Sue pops a blood vessle in all of their brains.
Probalby Sue! She could incase them in her forcefield and thats that!
SoundWave07 says:
"Probalby Sue! She could incase them in her forcefield and thats that!"
The issue with the force field is that she can't keep it up all day. She'll tire eventually. Especially with the Thing in there. But I'm not arguing with you that she would win.
IW has performed multiple activites on many occasions.
In this case, she could be invisible and simply enlarge a force bubble in the heads of the Thing and HT, who are both susceptible to this kind of attack.
I don't think that this would kill Mr F due to the nature of his powers but she can project thin lines of force capable of cutting him as displayed when she was possessed by Malice.
As for HT's Nova Blast. If IW lets the blast wve roll over her, with a force field cover, she will not encounter the entire effects of the 'force' created.
She may be able to sustain the forcefield in this case.
Overall, she has the best chance to win.
Sue with Reed a close contender. She has been shown to redirect the force of a nuclear blast so the Thing and Torch cant do nada, the only one to worry about would be Reed because of that brain of his. He probably has his version of the Xavier protocols on them so has some kinda failsafe ways to kill them all.
mr fantastic has a fire proof suit and can beat sue badly
but cant do nava long because if he do it he will kill his self and thing will brake and sue force will be broken so mr fantastic wins and thats that
invisible women cant do the whole force field thing on reed he just keep expanding... this fight goes to johnny though


text:
Receive alerts from our resorts.
Receive snow alerts, and check out quickly and easily.
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There was an error with your request.Please refresh the page and try again.curr =beavercreek
Last updated 12/17/2013 at 04:53 AM
Last updated 3 hours ago
Mostly Sunny
Chance Snow
Slight Chc Snow
Book online or call 800-953-0844 (001-970-496-4900) to speak with a local expert.
Located at the bottom of the Arrow Bahn Express Lift (Chair 17) in Arrowhead Village. Open for the winter season through Beaver Creek's closing day; and for the summer July through August.
The cuisine is American with a distinctly Pacific flavor. Located on Bachelor Gulch Mountain. Open for the winter season December 9th through Saturday, March 31st.
Learn More
Located on Beaver Creek Mountain.
Amazing cuisine, well-chosen wines, impeccable service, and a unique transportation option to the restaurant have made Beano's Cabin a favorite destination for years. In the winter, the only way to get up to Beano's Cabin is by an open air sleigh ride pulled by a snow cat. Live music is performed while diners enjoy a meal expertly prepared by Executive Chef Bill Greenwood.
(970) 754-3463
The menu is based on Colorado regional cuisine and featuring steaks, seafood, and signature wild game dishes. Located at the base of the eastern slopes of Beaver Creek Mountain. SaddleRidge is opening December 10th for the winter season and will close Saturday, March 31st.
Book it
New for the 2013/2014 winter season, Talons is a 500 seat facaility located near the base of Chairlifts 9, 10, and 11. Open for the winter season through Sunday, April 8th.
Serving contemporary Italian cuisine in a relaxed yet elegant atmosphere. Located in Market Square next to the ice rink.
60 Avondale Lane, Avon, CO 81620
(970) 754-5590
Award-winning fine dining in a turn of the century ranch house. Located just inside the main gates of Beaver Creek Resort.
55 Village Road, Avon, CO 81620
Offering quick bites and pick up items to go. Located in The Ritz-Carlton, Bachelor Gulch.
0130 Daybreak Ridge, Avon, CO 81620
Casual dining for lunch or dinner. Located in The Ritz-Carlton, Bachelor Gulch.
American, Steaks
European, American, Deli-Cafe-Bakery
60 Avondale LaneAvon, CO 81620 (970) 754-5590
55 Village RoadAvon, CO 81620 970.949.7728
0130 Daybreak RidgeAvon, CO 81620 970.748.6200
0130 Daybreak RidgeAvon, CO 81620 970.343.1090
0130 Daybreak RidgeAvon, CO 81620 970.343.1555
American, European
American, Deli-Cafe-Bakery, Pizza
50 W Thomas RoadAvon, CO 81620 970.827.6600
15 W Thomas PlaceAvon, CO 81620 970.845.0555
Deli-Cafe-Bakery, Steaks
210 Offerson Rd Avon, CO 81620 970.949.0742
60 Avondale LaneAvon, CO 81620
120 Offerson RoadBeaver Creek, Colorado 81620 970.949.1251
Italian, Pizza
76 Avondale LaneAvon, CO 81620 970.845.8666
136 E Thomas PlaceAvon, CO 81620 970.949.1234
American, Mexican
210 The PlazaAvon, CO 81620 970.949.5001
American, Mexican, Steaks
210 Offerson Rd Avon, CO 81620 970.748.1146
118 Beaver Creek PlazaAvon, CO 81620 970.949.1940
141 Scott Hill RoadAvon, CO 81620 970.949.0600
American, Deli-Cafe-Bakery
Deli-Cafe-Bakery, European, Other
210 Offerson Road Suite 201CAvon, CO 81620 970.748.3123
10 Elk Track LaneAvon, CO 81620 970.754.7400
Deli-Cafe-Bakery, European, Italian
45 W Thomas PlaceAvon, CO 81620 970.949.6156
26 Avondale LaneAvon, CO 81620 970.845.1730
17 Chateau LaneAvon, CO 81620 970.845.8808
1 Beaver CreekAvon, CO 81620 970.754.6247
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text:
See Special Offers Page for details
Personalize a set of list memo pads and express your style in print. With custom notepads for kids, colorful memo pad designs for mom, and monogrammed notepad designs for everyone, you can keep everyone stylishly organized. List memo pads work great for grocery lists, packing lists, chore and errand lists, or casual notes. Keep a pad and pen in your purse so you'll always be prepared.


text:
A discussion about what is at stake for Honduras, the Central American region, and the United States, in these elections. read more
About the Latin American Program
The Latin American Program and its institutes on Mexico and Brazil serve as a bridge between the United States and Latin America, providing a nonpartisan forum for experts from throughout the region and the world to discuss the most critical issues facing the Hemisphere.more
Major Initiatives of the Latin American Program
The Latest from the Latin American Program
Colombia's Peace Process: Advances, Obstacles, and the Upcoming Electoral Season
Event //
December 06, 2013 // 9:00am — 11:00am
A discussion about the progress of the peace process in Colombia. more
Latin American Program in the News: U.S. Vows Support for Colombia Peace Talks
Article //
Dec 06, 2013
Cynthia Arnson discusses the status of peace talks between the Colombian government and the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Columbia (FARC), the largest guerrilla organization in the country. more
Latin American Program in the News: Election strengthens Honduran military's hand
Article //
Dec 03, 2013
This article discusses the role that the Honduran military played in the election of National Party candidate, Juan Orlando Hernandez. Eric Olson discusses how the military has become a political actor and why the region is likely to become more militarized. more
Latin American Program in the News: Las FARC y el narcotráfico: el motivo y el pretexto
Article //
Dec 03, 2013
Wilson Center expert, Juan Carlos Garzón, discusses the role the narcotrafficking is playing in the negotiations between the Colombian government and FARC. He says that narcotrafficking and the role that FARC has played in that has been exaggerated. This article is in Spanish. more
Latin American Program in the News: In Honduras vote, new lesson in how the drug war steers politics
Article //
Dec 03, 2013
This article discusses the recent elections in Honduras and platforms that the candidates each ran on regarding drugs and crime. LAP Associate Director, Eric Olson, discusses what to expect from president-elect Juan Orlando Hernandez. more


text:
Mickey Charles Shuler
Position: TE
Height: 6-3 Weight: 232 lbs.
Born: August 21, 1956 in Harrisburg, PA
College: Penn St. (school history) (Shuler college stats)
Drafted by the New York Jets in the 3rd round (61st overall) of the 1978 NFL Draft.
Weighted Career AV (100-95-...): 43 (2031st overall since 1950)
2-time Pro Bowler (fine print)
Sponsor this page for $10 and help Pro-Football-Reference.com provide this service. Your message will replace this ad.


text:
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Court documents: Keys to destroyed classic Thunderbird found during burglary search (2nd update)
- Dec. 11, 2013
Three men suspected of burglarizing five local homes and a Wausau tavern also could be connected to the theft and destruction of a rare 1960 Ford Thunderbird, according to court documents.
Plea deal in firearms case in question
- Dec. 11, 2013
Marshfield man charged with hurting baby
- Dec. 11, 2013
Wausau man faces child porn charges Dec. 11, 2013
Coldest day of the season (so far) Dec. 11, 2013
The day in photos: Dec. 11 Dec. 11, 2013
For Paul Ryan, budget deal may be a career turning point Dec. 11, 2013
Pedestrian struck by vehicle Dec. 10, 2013
Update: Lengthy prison sentence ordered in armed home invasion Dec. 10, 2013
Charges filed in connection with Marshfield marijuana bust Dec. 10, 2013
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- Updated: Town of Merrill blaze blamed on wood-burning stove
- Think it's cold now? Wait until tomorrow
- The day in photos: Dec. 10
- White House: 99,000 Wisconsinites to lose unemployment benefits
- Wausau to consider stray cat deal with Humane Society
- Ashland City Council member to announce challenge to Duffy
- Updated: New Marathon County Jail administrator assumes new role today
- Click here to help Wausau Log Game win national rivalry contest
- Police: Medical condition caused driver to rear-end Eagle River squad car
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Festival of Trees inspires creativity and giving
- Dec. 3, 2013
The week-long Festival of Trees wrapped up Sunday, Dec. 1, but event organizers and would-be tree designers already are thinking forward to next year.
Merrill Focus
Food for Kids program seeks donations
- Nov. 29, 2013
Each fall, facilities throughout the Ministry Health Care System reaffirm the commitment to continually improve the health and well-being of all
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United Way Volunteer Connection and GoodsMatch
- Dec. 6, 2013
Thrift Store. Volunteers needed from 9 a.m. to noon Mondays, 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. Tuesdays and noon to 2 p.m. Fridays to sort and price donations or
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- Dec. 11, 2013
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources officials told their board Tuesday that cold weather and a struggling northern herd contributed to a
National News from USA TODAY and Associated Press
Space station suffers cooling problem; crew safe
Engineers are determining whether a valve problem may require a spacewalk to fix.
- Internet has turned adoption on its head, report says
- More than 8 million use long-term care services in USA
- Rieder: Combating ugly political rhetoric
- Extreme weather worries insurers, farmers
- Ohio teacher sentenced for having sex with student
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_gayby_ omfg I just liked someone's Instagram post from 59 WEEKS AGO WHAT HAVE I DONE
2 days ago.
KenzieMyers1123 Adorable! Excited to see your new show! "@PerezHilton: Yup, I was gay since I was in elementary school! Fat little #gayby!"
chestnutsuho suhooooo in a gayby sweater as usual BUT HE LOOKS SO ANGELIC i'm cryin mama it hurt
3 days ago.
goldcoastmatt ABC Iview has a documentary on there until tomorrow called Growing Up Gayby. Encourage everyone to take the night off and watch.
4 days ago.
honkifyanasty Time to sit back and watch another gayby FLY out of the closet.
5 days ago.


text:
Rebecca Taylor
Intarsia Pullover Sweater
The Rebecca Taylor collection is best known for providing the eternally evolving modern girl with fresh, feminine clothing to complement and refine her individual sense of style. Playful use of color, prints and textures in silhouettes that enhance a spirited lifestyle have cultivated a vast celebrity clientele to include Reese Witherspoon, Katherine Heigl, Rachel Bilson, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Nicole Richie, and Vanessa Hudgens, to name a few. Through a series of collaborations and partnerships, the collection has grown to offer handbags, shoes, jewelry, eyewear and swim.
- 100% cashmere
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- Styled with Current/Elliott Skinny Jean in Loved Destroy.
- Modeled in size S. See fit guide for model's dimensions.
- Revolve Style No. RT-WK12
- Manufacturer Style No. 412804Y532


text:
Driver Update version 44.04 for Windows NT 4
This is a new driver update of Creative Graphics Cards for users running on Windows NT4 only.
This update is meant for Creative TNT, TNT2, GeForce, GeForce2, GeForce3, GeForce4, and 3D Blaster 5 FX series of graphics
Copyright and Terms of Use, © 2000-2013 Video-Drivers.com. All rights reserved. Do not copy or redistribute in any form!


text: Your tropical escape is out there. Indulge in the mysteries of Hawaii on Oahu, Kauai, Maui, The Big Island, or Molokai. Take an exotic trip to New Zealand. Castle Resorts & Hotels awaits with the most perfect vacation rental, condo, first class business hotel, luxury villa or resort. Come, explore these amazing destinations and discover your treasure and enjoy value, convenience and genuine local hospitality.


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1-10 of 78 properties for sale found
6 bedroom house for sale Avenue Gardens, Acton, W3
An outstanding Victorian property, arranged over four floors, presents original features, but in need of modernisation and provides a sizeable mature garden, double garage, and plenty of potential for improvement. More details ›
6 bedroom house for sale Heathfield Road, Acton, W3
A fantastic opportunity for both investors and families to purchase a huge freehold house set over three floors. This property boasts a large garden, roof terrace, a minimum of 6 bedrooms (depending on usage), three bathrooms and an abundance of period features. (contd...) More details ›
6 bedroom semi-detached house for sale Heathfield Road, Acton, London
An ideal family home or development opportunity, we are pleased to present this impressive and substantial property, situated in a popular residential road in Acton's popular Mill Hill conservation area. This property is over 2,900 sqft and is loosely arranged a three flats and is in need of mode... More details ›
9 bedroom house for sale Heathfield Road, Acton
A nine bedroom, three storey semi-detached home with 3176 sq. ft. of living space. This period property is currently arranged as three individual dwellings and has sixteen habitable rooms. The property is in need of modernisation and could be restored to its original residence or converted in to ... More details ›
6 bedroom terraced house for sale Heathfield Road, W3
This impressive period house is situated in a popular residential road in Acton's popular Mill Hill conservation area boasting over 3000sqft. This brilliant investment has plenty of scope and great potential to mould into any project. More details ›
£1,300,000Guide Price
Guide Price £1,300,000
6 bedroom semi-detached house for sale Heathfield Road, Acton
Investment opportunity!! Size is important!! A huge three storey house in one of Acton W3's most popular roads. This huge property boasts high ceilings, a roof terrace, a large garden and a large cellar. This will make a great family home if you have a large family or if you want your next project. More details ›
2 bedroom house for sale Bollo Bridge Road, Chiswick, W3
If working from home is your preferred choice then this could be the property for you. A substantial period gated terraced house from the exterior but upon entering it is clear that this property possesses an abundance of space with numerous possible configurations. With approximately 2,500 sq f... More details ›
3 bedroom house for sale Avenue Road, Acton
A three double bedroom semi-detached period home with a large rear garden. The ground floor boasts a large double reception room, separate kitchen, downstairs toilet/ utility room and a conservatory built into the side-return. The first-floor consists of three double bedrooms and a bathroom. Fu... More details ›
Semi-detached house for sale Winchester Street, London, W3
The Court Houses, W3 is a former magistrates court and has been transformed into 7 truely unique freehold properties with double and triple volume spaces. The building has been fully restored leaving clear open spaces for the purchaser to fullfil their personal "Grand Design" dreams. More details ›
3 bedroom detached house for sale Acton Lane, Acton
Orchards of London are proud to offer to the market this fabulous three bedroom family home situated within a brand new development in Acton boasting a delightful private garden and spacious accommodation throughout. The property has been finished to a very high standard and consists of a bright ... More details ›


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Nearly 500 graduates will be recognized at Mid-year Commencement on Sunday, Dec. 15, at the U.S. Cellular Arena, 400 W. Kilbourn Ave. The program will begin at 9.30 a.m. and will feature a keynote address by Dr. Donald A. Neumann, professor of physical therapy, and featured student speaker Brendan Takash. Graduates and their families are also invited to participate in a Baccalaureate Mass at 7:30 p.m. Saturday, Dec. 14 at Church of the Gesu on campus.
More information, including accommodations for out-of-town visitors, is available online.
Christmas and semester break hours of operation
Marquette community celebrates Advent, Christmas season with concerts, Mass
Haggerty Museum of Art: Exhibition highlights selections by students, faculty and staff through Dec. 22
Save the dates: Mission Week 2014 will be Feb. 2-7; will focus on 'The Art and Practice of Forgiveness'
Stay up to date with news about the search for the next president of Marquette University.
Learn how Marquette is making a difference by improving oral health throughout Wisconsin and beyond.
Check out the fall 2013 issue of Marquette Magazine.