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End of the Line - Zlicin PDF Print E-mail
on 28-03-2006 05:51

Published in : , Prague


by Milan GagnonImage

 

Ah, the 'burbs, where life moves in malls and megastores and there's lots of elbowroom and that parking ... There's so much that Metropole names its rows so patrons will be able to find their cars in the mall's 2,000-spot lot and drive back to their single- and double-level homes—because the suburbs have those, too—at the end of the shopping day...

Folks travel on four wheels much more efficiently than they would on two feet in the suburbs, and getting from shopping center to shopping center requires crisscrossing parking lots and begging for mercy at crosswalks. The metro takes travelers to Zlicín, at the end of the B line; how they navigate from there is up to them.

 

ImageMetropole offers, for those who've never been to Old Faithful or Las Vegas, a bit of a treat in the form of a fountain that spits a several-meter-high stream of water hourly, accompanied by a choreographed laser-and-music show. People gather to watch that shit. Really. Other amusement awaits in the arcade, which offers something for the whole family: drinking, smoking, and gambling for ma 'n' pa; shooting simulators for the little ones. Brewskis run 22.5 Kc.

 

A treacherous trek up and over the expressway and across several lanes of traffic sits the Globus hypermarket, a German import that, of course, also sets aside a cranny for shoppers to smoke and drink, in this case 39 Kc Heineken. On a recent Saturday, a dude with a microphone challenged children to a ball toss, gave one male preteen winner a hairdryer for his efforts. The lines are long, but the selection must be worth it. And have you seen the parking?Image

 

A bus station offers the grit amidst the shopping splendor. Inside, a bistro provides 11° Krušovice musketyr and a crowd that speaks in a volume and slur only attained by a several-decade commitment to sub-sobriety. Coughs stir the sputum stored by a similar surrender to cigarettes. And the bartender, a portly old broad, laughs a grandmotherly giggle as she serves and supervises her charges: a dozen afternoon drinkers in a semi-suburban bistro situated at the end of the line.

 

 


   

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