We took a morning trip over the border - of the city of Prague - to Boranovice, a tiny village with one of the largest second-hand clothing stores anyone has ever seen -- the sad poetry of a crumbling farm repurposed as a second-hand warehouse.
As it turned out, the hipsters of the world have bought every funky used clothing item, even all the way out here. (I wonder where, in the world, there still exist the discarded remnants of ancient fashion.) After realizing that there was nothing inside for me, I took a stroll around the courtyard in which these warehouses are placed. This was clearly a farm, centuries ago. Here was the farm house. There was the church. Prague was a half-day journey away. What stories, dramas, or sagas happened here? One day the commies came, and took the farm away from whoever had lived here, for however many generations. They probably turned it into a barely-functioning collective farm. They built some warehouses. After a while the commies went away again. Still, this place stands. But the doors are closed and locked, and the stones don't speak.
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