“Stepping out into the morning dew Pipe Adams and Brady Taylor Thomas may have well been stepping onto the sands of some distant moon.
A gypsy approached as they made their way through the station and out into the soot. Clutching in its knurled digits some trinkets, which it offered for sale, it barked something neither could interpret as they brushed past; they held their packs ever closer.
Our boys strained bloodshot eyes to see the Kamhoz hostelier Xavier plying them again with sudsy caffeinated tipples.
“Good mourning Budapest,” thought Brady softly into his pillow. He strained his mind’s eye for a return salutation but none came. For this is a city with neither greetings nor salutations. It merely is and exists independently from all other places on earth.
“Good morning Brady,” whispered Xavier.
Hurtling through the European countryside and on towards Prague our heroes reposed, filled with a certain indescribable uneasiness having just been witness to the theater of the macabre. Wiping the grime from his can of Hungarian beer, Brady filled Pipe’s small plastic cup. Finishing it all in one gulp Pipe continuously bit the cup, marring its lip with uneven striations.
Brady eyed the anxiety riddled goblet without pity.
“I wonder how Marlo fares in the tropics?” queefed Pipe, lazily.
Brady opened his mouth to say something but words failed him. He took a sip of beer. Looking out the window into the Hungarian hinterlands he wondered not about Marlo…”
A recent foray into the refrigerated section of a local fancy organic supermarket yielded the author a bottle of Rebel, a Czechoslovakian brew. A tour of Eastern Europe in years past with compatriot Bradriot yielded unfavorable reviews of any and all Czech beers. With Marlo continuously reminiscing about his times spent studying in Prague and its remembrance dreamt of delicious Czech brews, it was decided to give this lowly Czech brew another run at the taste gamut. Of course, as it should with the sampling of any Eastern European delicacy, memories of a great hurrah resurfaced, and your author slumpt into his chair, sipping beer and dreaming of good times forgotten past.
The Blue Sabino:
1 Part Absinthium
3 Parts Blue Malina
Drunk with the crook of one arm covering one’s face as if shielding one’s eyes from the privates of a young gypsy boy.