Teddy's VHS collection never really came up in conversation.

Sure, occasionally I'd say something about the oblique pop-up cultural reference t-shirt he wore,

and I recall having a discussion or two about his obsession with 90 sitcoms.

But most of our time together was spent talking about the strangeness of the locals.

I originally moved to Prague to squeeze out as much fun out of my 20s as I could in a cost-effective

manner.

Beer was cheaper than water, rent was infinitely more affordable than San Fran, and there's something

to be said about dating in the porn capital of the world.

Teddy's reasons for moving to Prague on the other hand were a bit more cryptic.

Whenever I would ask him about his departure from the States, he would wax poetic about the dark Gothic streets, about the strangeness of the city, about how he could feel Kafka's perpetually confused spirit drifting through the subways. But it wasn't until one room-soaked evening

that he gave me something concrete.

You can also find some pretty niche VHS tapes here, he said, and I like collecting VHS tapes.

Maybe he wanted me to press the subject further, maybe he wanted to show me his collection, but to be honest, I didn't care.

I liked the dude. He was weird, but I liked him.

Frail and covered in adult acne.

Teddy was funny- am meek, but the guy had a heart of gold.

Whenever I found myself lost in the absurd bureaucracy of the city,

or looking for an explanation to the strange customs of the Pragueas,

Teddy was more than happy to help. He moved to the city just a year before me.

Yet somehow he had managed to get a grasp on the strange consonant-filled lingo of the locals and

knew of just about every ex-backed friendly gem hidden around the dark alleys.

We were unfriendly enough terms to be conflict-free roommates and occasionally grab a drink together.

...