Prague (pronounced /ˈprɑːɡ/; Czech: Praha pronounced ['praɦa' ])

A very old friend and love interest traveled to Prague recently.
When chatted about how the city was divided by an invisible line into the clean, maintained, touristy half and the unkempt, disheveled, urban half.
About the cobblestones and how they made his calves so unnecessarily strong.
Conversations about food ensued, with a weak attempt to gauge the approximate amount of pork and pivo(beer) lining his stomach at that point in time.
I was told that everything Kundera (one of our favorites) had written about Prague was true, and that Kafka was definitely their most favorite son.
Thanks to a bad internet connection in a local hotel room, our conversation ended abruptly, with him telling me how the city was immensely inspiring (yes, why wouldn't a writer say that?) and a mention of graffiti all over the walls. A few minutes later I received this picture in my mail, sent through phone email.
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If nothing else sealed the deal, this did.
And I hope to see more of Prague soon.