PO POUTI (+ English version)

Autobus si razil cestu ospalým městem. Na náměstí ještě dokázal rozeznat, kde stálo podium, u košů se povalovaly pytle odpadků, silnici zdobily zbytky petard.

Bus nevšímavě odkrajoval ze své cesty. Ze včerejška si nepamatoval vůbec nic, snad jen, že na některých zastávkách nesměl stavět. A všude houfy policajtů, kteří ho nemínili pustit z očí.

Pamatoval si ještě, jak se ve vzduchu vznášela čirá radost. Ale ta už dávno vyvanula. Teď město pokrýval popílek smutku. A i ten do týdne zapadne…

…a do roka a do dne se to bude opakovat, to věděl. Ani trošku se na to netěšil. Znal to.

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AFTER A JOURNEY

The coach drove his way through the sleepy town. In the square he could still tell where the podium stood, the trash bags littered with trash bags, the road adorned the remains of the petard.
Bus disregarded his way out of his way. He did not remember anything from yesterday, perhaps just that he could not build on some stops. And everywhere a bunch of cops who did not want to let him out of sight.
He remembered the clear joy of the air. But she's been swooning long ago. Now the city covered the ashes of mourning. Even the week will fit ...
... and in the year and the day it will be repeated, he knew. He did not even look forward to it. He knew it.