Just a Blur

Yesterday on my way home from work I stopped in at U Zpěváčků to pick up a book that Steve (not rtm’s cat) was meant to have left for me there. Of course I decided to stay and have just one small beer and chat with George, the sweet young Czech barman.

George was listening to the Dead Kennedys and he said that he also liked The Clash a lot. I said that I had seen both bands, probably before he was born. I was wrong on both counts: George was probably about 10 days old when I saw The Clash, and about two years old when I saw the DKs. I find it very amusing to be in my late 30s.

A young couple walked into the bar, an American boy and a Czech girl. I thought the boy looked familiar, but simply assumed that I had seen him there or in another bar, no memory of actually speaking to him. Then I thought he might look familiar because he bore a resemblance to another American boy that used to live in Prague, a kid called Joey. Joey was from New York, and was here years ago. I think I knew him from my JJ Murphy’s era (1999-2000); I can’t remember much about him except his very black hair and his very strong New York accent. I have no idea when he left Prague, or if he’s still here, or what. Thinking about it all, I decided that it was very weird how people can blur into each other and how some people can just disappear without a trace. And that I probably would never have thought about Joey if this boy had not looked like him.

I got up to call Mike and ask him if Steve had ever even left the book. He had not, but that is beside the point today. When I went back to the bar, the kid started talking to me:

How are you?

Just fine, thanks, how are you?

I remember I met you when I first got here. You’re American but you have a funny British accent.

He had not recognised me by sight; it was my fucked-up accent that rang the bell. I, of course, had no memory of meeting him (he said it was last November): all the young American kids blur into each other, just like all the rest of the people do.