I’m standing by the side of a busy Krakow road with little sleep and getting drizzled on.  Nobody is stopping.  They need to hurry up as well because I want to be out of the country before a certain special lady receives a bunch of thirteen yellow roses with red tips.  Yes I know it’s …

So on no sleep whatsoever I force myself to finally do two walking tours to see the city.  Around 10 am I’m necking a double espresso in a cafe just off the main square, blinking through bleary eyes and feeling boozy-party-come-down-paranoia you only regularly get from staying out all night on the sauce.  It’s going …

I’m writing this after being awake all night festering in a hostel room that smells of this guys farts.  It’s actually alright once you’re used to it, but it’s when you walk back in from any length of time away that you’re hit with a wall of stench that’ll get right on your sick trigger. …

James Peter Alden opened his eyes under the pillow.  He wasn’t sure if he’d slept, but what snatches of rest he managed were troubled.  The curtains did little to keep the light at bay, and grey though it was, it still filled the room with unrelenting brightness.  He vaguely remembers losing his tenth game of …

The two are generally unrelated, yet I spend a lot of time contemplating the graffiti above me as I suffer a lousy fever blister.  Standing several freezing hours by the side of a road hasn’t helped, and neither has the events of the last few days.  The surprising thing about this hostel bunk is that …