The Death of A Friend.

When I checked into my small Hotel just on the outskirts of the old town of Prague; I felt A wave of fatigue, such that it startled me. I had forgotten that my journey had gone for more then two days with only sporadic sleep, and an even more sporadic diet made up mostly of red wine and bread. I did manage to scrape A quick run for the cheese in Vienna during A brief lay over, and the rest of the journey was left to the aggressive peddlers who offered little for the money. I was about to sign off for the night, when the phone rang; it was my lost twin Michael, who I had been looking for for most of the day. He sounded somewhat gloomy and sunk, that I could only have anticipated something terribly wrong to have happened. He informed me that my old friend Jonathan, had died as result of A lingering Cancer which he carried for more then A year, and that He had already been buried in our small village cemetery just two days ago. The news was not unexpected. I did feel numb and was almost surprised that I did not cry: I was too tired to feel, even memory felt like A fog. I told my twin that I love him, and will catch up with him in the morning, so that he can reveal to me the mytery of his disappearance, and how he found me.