On Swans

I visited the statue of Franz Kafka the other day. The man wrote 23 short stories, but only 3 novels. This got me thinking; "I wonder why he devoted such little time to writing." Then I started walking. And it came to me. This is why:

The moment you go one street over from the tourists or hold out just after the sun sets, it is in fact possible to see more than a sea of fanny packs. Especially of note are the swans. I've never seen so many swans before. They seem to have an affinity for the embankment after Jiráskov, and  when I approached the walk's edge, they flocked to me, extending their necks as if I was obligated to treat them a tasty dinner. Not only are they pleasant little beggars, they make for breathtaking photographs, embellishing the already-gorgeous architecture on Rašínovo nábreží street that hugs the Vltava. There is something romantic and sentimental about swans. I'm not sure exactly how to describe it, and when I consulted Kafka for his brilliant thoughts on the swans, I found...nothing. Seems the old man was not only too busy wandering around the streets of Prague to write a decent number of novels, he also forgot to record his affairs with the city's most seductive characters. Thanks a bunch, Franz.