Happy 25th, Raphael!

I ran into Raphael at the train station and he told me it was his 25th birthday.

“Me... 25 years and...,” he looked around, shrugged and said, “Hlavní nádraží.

There are worse places, I suppose. Aren’t there?

Things don’t look so bad for either of us when he pulls out a bottle of wine that’s been hiding inside his big-ass coat and winks at me.

Anyway, I . . .

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