The Krakow Diaries

75 days in Krakow. On a literary grant from the German Kulturstiftung der Länder. In the Guesthouse of the 16th century Villa Decius, with 10 other writers from Poland, Germany, Belarussia, Ukraine and Georgia. Beautiful city. Nice Krakovians. Fun nightlife. Beautiful women. And in the guesthouse: Meetings of the minds. Too much vodka. Good friends. One of the great pleasures of my life.

Day #37: Monday, Oct. 23: They Got Katja

I never would have recorded the horrible deed on camera if I hadn't heard her blood-curdling screams. They went on for hours. I know because I was watching my clock as I stood behind my door, listening. When it was over, I ventured out to get this photo with a camera, and saw that someone was still there - I only saw the legs. However, I am not just any writer. My reactions are honed by years of experience. I no longer have to think about it. No, I am not one of those men who stand around discussing options and weighing circumstances while the pool of blood gets larger and larger. Not me. I act. And so it was this night: Before the murderer could even get a glimpse of me, I ran back into my room, bolted the door, shut off all the lights and waited in the furthest corner of the room, ready to scream bloody hell should the murderer knock at my door. He didn't. He knew I wouldn't go as easily as Katja did.

The next morning when I woke, I went back out to the stairwell. She was gone


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