AcmeShorts

Travelogue, Czech Republic, October

(Ed. Note: The first installment resides here.)

Throughout my travels, I would often come across Canadian backpackers who moved about in cliques of two or three. Or sometimes one, as was the case with one particular gentlemanly degenerate. As you might expect, his backpack was adorned with several large Canadian emblems.

I will despise him.

After a particularly trying day spent almost exclusively aboard the fourth-class car of a rickety local train held together by old widgets and faith, the Canadian's antics began to grow tiresome. I had seen single emblems in my time, but his knapsack teemed with the red maple leaves I had already begun to revile.

They winked at me, these leaves, if you could imagine leaves issuing such human gestures. Perhaps it was the left corner of one emblem fluttering in the night air intruding from the train window that gave me this impression. Perhaps it was the dysentery acquired from the previous night's shellfish offering at the local sausage stand, now contaminating my wits, which did the trick. No matter. I decided to chase after him into the outdoor passage between cars, where he had decided to loosen his bowels, despite the close presence of a perfectly functioning WC.

I beat him about the head with my fiberglass baguette until he lost consciousness. I returned to his seat, opened his sack, and walked back to the motionless body, upon which I laid a particularly offensive Canadian flag in silent protest.

The next morning, I awoke to the taste of dirty socks and cinammon, surely primary ingredients in the seasoning of most Czech foods.