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The sun soaked the city's asphalt and burned children's feet, while gypsies danced in Smichov Nadrazi to showcase their new shoes. Drunks howled like dogs against the sirens as old ladies softened their wrinkles in disapproval.

Pigeons flew.
Bees buzzed. 
Jazz jazzed.

Meanwhile, the hum-drum workers shuffled their feet; low and flat, as the cello from my dreams played to the audience of Smichov Nadrazi.

Soft and sweet

And I, an idiot or a baby, stood at the center of my world, hands in pockets, a smirk on my fat face.