(no subject)
Mercutio is watching breakdancers with fascination, sprawling on the steps of the statue in Krakow's central square. He approves of this kind of dancing, fast and athletic and fun.
It's twilight. The square is fringed around with bars and cafes, which are all full and overspilling onto the cobbles, but the real action is in the centre, near the statue, where the buskers and performers and dancers are. Buskers in Krakow are only very rarely less than professional standard, and Mercutio is particularly enchanted by a jazz band of five men with trumpets and other instruments that he does not recognise. The air is soft and cool, and there are people everywhere.
It's twilight. The square is fringed around with bars and cafes, which are all full and overspilling onto the cobbles, but the real action is in the centre, near the statue, where the buskers and performers and dancers are. Buskers in Krakow are only very rarely less than professional standard, and Mercutio is particularly enchanted by a jazz band of five men with trumpets and other instruments that he does not recognise. The air is soft and cool, and there are people everywhere.