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The golem meyrink6/2/2023 It was as though I was standing still, and they – the dogs – were going round in circles, were circling me, coming back around, time and time again. The dogs, so many dogs, all the same breed, and all wearing scarves, passed by me at regular intervals. My feet moved, but I appeared to make no progress. The walk along the bridge seemed to be unending. Yet, while these things all contributed to the surreal atmosphere, it was the dogs, the dogs wearing scarves, that truly did for me. Further on, a spidery old man was playing an over-large accordion, and what appeared to be circus performers were blithely strolling in the midday sun. Straightaway, I noted a woman having her portrait drawn, a smile stretched grotesquely across her face as though it was intent on swallowing it. It was early in the afternoon, around 12:30, as we left the museum and started the crossing. I was, I must confess, disgracefully hungover and sleep deprived and I had, yes, already had something of a meltdown in the Kafka museum but these things can, I feel, only provide a partial explanation for what happened on the Karluv Most bridge.
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