I am sorry to hear of the unpleasantries that face your colleagues as well as the unfortunate developments arising out of your relationships. I, too, am in no better a predicament myself. It with little delight that I reflect on my recent exchanges with Klára. Not more than a fortnight past did I enjoy dinner with my new acquaintance. In a series of mobile missives, I became encouraged with the prospect of sharing another evening or two with her. At last, I soon realized my how grossly mistaken I was. Having not heard after her return from Germany, I proposed that we renew our conversations over coffee. An a hour had passed before I received a most disturbing, yet somewhat appreciated, mobile missive. In no trite manner could I now be mislead. To the best of my recollection, she conveyed to me in part, "I do not feel like going out with you again. I am sorry." I would be remissed for not admitting I was quite shaken with such candid honesty. Yet, at the same time, I respect a lady for not impressing upon another a most infelicitous presumption.
Much has changed since I arrived at this beautiful city. My initial endeavors proved ineffective and I have all but relinquished my salacious enterprises. This is not to say I no longer observe the barroom upon my entry or that I introduce myself given the opportunity. Indeed, I have experienced rather interesting conversations with several ladies from across Europe. However, I have taken greater comfort in the companionship of my ex-patriot friends. I find the incessant courtship ritual rather taxing, and regret that my repeated nightly leisures has ultimately taken toll to my health. But perhaps I express a much graver image than truth be told. I suffer no more than the common cold but to an unsatisfactory extent where I must take leave from the office. My employer has shown significant generosity in allowing me time so that I may recover with all due haste.
I must now divert your attention to introduce a most notable figure amongst the ex-patriot community. No doubt, should one reference his name among the more learned circles, one could not escape some anecdote or remark. It is Mr Jonathon Jarvis I speak of. Mr Jarvis is a man of his late twenties and of a family of considerable wealth. However, he is much too humble to be related to such a prosperous heritage. My first impression was that of a deranged, unshaven louse
reeking of alcohol and shirt half-tucked. Or perhaps, his casual nature is the result of his frequent indulgences with certain chemicals that I will not speak more of. In any event, Mr Jarvis is well known for his eccentric behavior and omnipresence throughout Prague. It would be rare feat not to encounter him on any given night at such establishments such as Bombay Cafe, Marquis de Sade, Chateau, or Nebe.
Excuse me, I must take my leave at this very moment because two visibly inebriated ladies of Czech descent have requested my presence with them at Bombay.
Pardon that rude interruption, I believe a dance or two was sufficient to indulge their odd request. I felt it rather awkward because I was promptly introduced to their boyfriends, who seem to possess no interest of the dance floor. Fortunately, no drinks need be ordered and I return without any deficiencies upon my person. I now return to my outdoor parlour along Dlouhá třída where I may find a suitable Wi-Fi spot. Let me briefly describe my present settings. It is a quarter til 2 in the morning and a distinct pungent odor is emitting from the neighbor beside me. He was not present when I first arrived and I wish he awaken himself and find more appropriate accommodations. Various club patrons traverse through this part of town as it adjoins two nearby metro stations.
I seem to have diverged from my original agenda. As the night becomes increasing morning, I believe it best that I retire within the hour. I shall continue to extend my observations in further forthcoming missives as I am glad to hear such accounts afford you some amusement.
Your friend in Prague,