Tourist Info

Below, the Old Town Square was waking up. He watched the first wave of tour groups arrive, their colorful umbrellas bobbing like cereal bits in milk. From this height, he could see the intricate gears of the great clock through a side window, humming with a life the people below never saw.

"The fog doesn't read the forecast," she shrugged. "You’re the type who likes to be on time, aren't you?" tourist

Elias stiffened. "I like to be prepared. I’m only here for three days." Below, the Old Town Square was waking up

The sun wasn’t even up when Elias pulled his suitcase over the cobblestones of Prague. The sound—a rhythmic clack-clack-clack —echoed against the silent, gothic facades, making him feel like an intruder in a sleeping giant’s bedroom. "The fog doesn't read the forecast," she shrugged

He was so busy calculating the walking distance that he didn't notice the woman sitting on the stone ledge until she spoke.

Elias took the key. He walked away from the bridge, leaving the fog-drenched statues behind. He found the shop—a tiny sliver of a building wedged between a bakery and a bookstore. When he turned the key, the smell of oil and old wood hit him. He climbed the narrow spiral stairs and pushed open the heavy wooden shutters.

He looked at his map. 06:00: Sunrise at Charles Bridge. 07:30: Breakfast at Café Savoy.