That does it. I've had enough. There was a knock on the door last night. Two or three women were standing there. They seemed surprised to see me. "Where's Dominique?" they asked. "And who the hell are you?"
I'm glad that guy is finally gone. Okay, he's the little brother of My Beautiful German Frolein, but when he had told me something about coming to Krakau to visit for a few days, I didn't listen to him. Somehow, he managed to get here and ended up sleeping in the extra bed.
Once in Krakau, he took over. Let me put something straight here. I'm the writer. I'm the intellectual. I'm the international globetrotter. So what was he doing running around Krakau as if he owned the place? He seemed to know all the cool bars instinctively. That one place, the club that went over four floors... how did he know about that? The bouncer at the door didn't even want to let me in until he noticed Dominique.
Then he started up with my so-called "friends": Talking poetry with Nicolai, DJing with Mirek, discussing Jewish history and international politics with Erica. True, I hate poetry and can't talk to Nicolai about it without getting into a fistfight. But still, that's my job.
I've been trying to get a poetic text out of Katja for months and she refuses to show me anything. I saw Dominique reading a sheaf of papers on morning, asked him what they were, and he said, "Oh, Katja gave me some of her stuff to read."
You know that old saying, "Walk a mile in someone else's shoes?" Well, not only did he take my shoes, he took my booties too, and I want them back.
I'm glad he's finally gone. Don't tell the girls, though. They're still sitting on my bed, waiting for him to return.
I get this question all the time: "Eric, there's so much Klezmer music in Krakow, what's the best Klezmer band?" 
