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Prague by manu_cz
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It is marvellous to be definitely settled, to have eventually found a nice, comfortable place. It is an indescribable moment when you take the keys of your newly found apartment, or when you put your name on the letter box, or specially when you realize that you have a washing machine for yourself. Those living in a hall of residence know perfectly well what I’m talking about.
In my former hall of residence you could consider yourself lucky if you got the laundry room keys. Very lucky if when returning the keys you were not overcharged. And touched by the hand of God if the washing machine worked properly; I mean washing, instead of just wetting you clothes. Damn, how many times I had to take my soaked clothes and wash them by hand in the bathroom. And later to hang them in the shower and ask my mate not to bath today. I thought there was a drying room, but when I asked for the key at reception, they informed me that such room didn’t exist. "Oh yes," I insisted, "I’ve seen it. It’s in building number…" No way. The woman shaked her head. "No drying room." Ok, ok. I come back upstairs and see the room. A big poster on the door reads, Drying Room. I fold my arms, stare fixedly at the door and mutter, "You, liar."
So the first thing I do when arriving to my flat is load the washing machine. And I say to Daniel in a rapture, "I can’t believe it, man!" The second thing, by the way, is break accidentally the lamp of my room when trying to change the lightbulb. "I can’t believe it, man!"
All in all, the flat is a palace. We have an amazing kitchen with oven, microwaves, water heater and dishwasher; a huge living room; a TV; a cute dining room with two kitsch lamps, red and green; a hookah; a basket ball; a red beach ball rolling in the living room (nobody knows where it came from and when); both a shower and a bath… "But you’re only interested in the washing machine!!"
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