Prague, Malá Strana
On their third “date,” Nell slept with Petr.
Part way through one of his well-constructed, earnest lectures on Czech cinema, he cut himself short.
“Oh hell … I mean all of that or none of it … but right now it doesn’t matter a damn.”
“What does matter?”
“You do. Come home with me, Nell.”
Rarely had she been so bluntly propositioned.
She was not surprised. She was not offended.
She led off, forcing him to follow her.
“On the corner, you said? Where the trams go by?”