I capture a tourist between finger and thumb, ascertaining dimensions and tracing the impressions on his white paper. I exaggerate the features, leave out the detail of all but the obvious. I shade in the Old Town Tower bridge Where the heads of the rebels leaders swung grimacing and stretching as they rotted, the Habsburgs laying down a marker. The side streets wind their way to the Jewish cemetery , the crowded gravestones pointing at all angles to heaven, a Golem etherised lumbers in the shadows. Prague castle sits aloof on the other side, spires sharp as they colour the city with its gothic sweep, gloved vendors sell hot coffees that add their steam to the mist. People laugh at themselves, wide eyed and big lipped smiles stretch like tarpaulin over the stalls, as statues of Christ and sorrowed angels are frozen in human positions overlooking the Vltava river .