When I was a wee nipper teaching english to pale Metrostav employees deep in the nicotine-stained monolithic hallways of the headquarters in Holesovice, Charleston was my local restaurant. I took an instant liking to it. Old Billie Holiday records on the stereo; chairs of the same vintage; cool on a hot day and cozy on a rainy day; good coffee and well-cooked pasta.
You might even think you've stepped away from our 21st century as you sip a coctail, until you look across the bar at the sexy person with pierced lips.
