One of the towers of the Prague train station. By Jorge Láscar from Australia [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons Sometime this morning in 1968, having checked out of the hostel and returned to the center of town, I ran into the woman I’d traveled into Czechslovakia with. She had been looking for me, she said, keeping near Prague’s Wenceslas Square and the train station, figuring I would show up around there at some point.
The idea of expecting to run into someone on the streets of Prague sounds preposterous today but, then, with so few people walking around, it didn’t seem unlikely at all,
She had chanced to look at the stamp in her passport that morning and had realized that our visas had expired. They had been good for a single day, not three–and we were now heading toward the conclusion of three since arrival.
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