Spring rain has a way of seeping under my skin. It gets to my core and makes me miss you. Unexpected clouds cover what was just a few hours ago a transparent sky, bringing with it a permeating darkness. A sudden rainstorm and I'm caught without an umbrella. There is no choice now but to walk on, one foot in front of the other, by-passing the freshly-filled puddles. The piegons I pass look cold and uncomfortable, their feathers poufed and ruffled. I can't wait to get home and throw off the wet layers which stick to my skin, slowly, piece by piece. But I want to take the long way back. I like to think of you and long, careless sunny days. The lingering kisses and the soft-spoken words. The slushing feeling in my shoes brings me back there, there where I am dry.

Closed Doors, Open Washrooms

Leaving parts of me in places always close even though they're not

Haunted

Sometimes when I walk down Krakow's narrow cobblestone streets I hear footsteps behind me. They aren't anyone's footsteps in particular, but rather the steps of the whole of history. They are heavy steps, burdened by the past. I think of all the shoes, ragged and new, that have tread this very street in the oppressive heat, in the bitter cold, in love and in war. Often, it is difficult to imagine Poland's not-so-distant past with the glare of the neon signs from the shop windows. But looking down, at the worn stone beneath my feet, the past somehow becomes present, alive with ruin. The ghosts of this city are everywhere.

38 first times

Everyday it starts the same way. The sleek blue body of the 38 sliding down the street to the stop where I wait. Sometimes the sun shines. More often, it rains. It's cold and it's grey but I don't have to ask anyone for a bilet studencki on the 38. The automatic ticket dispenser silently responds to my demand. A gentle click, the familiar sound. No necessary words or unnecessary exchange. It doesn't roll its eyes, it doesn't ask for smaller change. No lost elbows, backpacks or pushes. There is always room for me on the 38. An empty seat nearest the window with my name on it. Not that I'm tired anyway, memories of yesterday feeding me, keeping me up, racing. I sit facing backwards on the 38, but always move forward. I don't know what's in front of me and I don't seem to care. The cars, the people, the kisses and the screams. In one, two, three, four stops, I always get to here.

A picture worth a thousand words

Making it easy for smokers on the street

Yummy garlic ketchup

No wonder bars don't close

Send me all your vampires

I have become a creature of the night. I draw the dark red curtains in my bedroom during the day to rest. I come alive only after dark. I live in the dingy basements of Krakow and have become extremely pale. I'm so incoherent that incoherence itself is now normal. The constant spin. And the freaky part is I kind of like it.

It's Thursday and it's the weekend. For 10 days! Muahaha.

Captured

Some moments pass but never die

First there were four, then three, now two.

Monika - I'm going to make this one short and sweet seeing as how we've had enough goodbyes over the last little while and I don't want to drag this one out. I wish all the best on your journey!