Because it's old and even the most inconspicuous alley carries within its cobbles 1,100 years of history.
Because even modern doors devoid of pomp or notoriety seem to have been knocked on by the whole of humankind.
Because it is Romanesque and Gothic and Romantic and touched by Renaissance and Modernism and nobody cares which period was the best or the worst.
Because Prague's story is terribly violent and deeply religious and fiercely secular and outrageously literate and devastatingly beautiful....it could also be defined in any variation of the above. That's why.
Because these men sat on a park bench at the Old Town Square to swig an unidentifiable drink out of a paper bag, chain-smoke, and share a loaf of dry bread while peacefully soaking in the wintry Praguian sun.
Because these winos, we tourists call Praguers, Praguians, Czechs, have Celtic blood running through their veins and can very well be descendants of their ancestral Roman Emperors.
Because I found these two men with wrinkled faces, yellow finger nails, cheap cigarettes and bagged brew chitchatting right where the Protestant Reformation was conceived; probably right on the same spot where a few centuries ago eleven political leaders were sentenced to death by defenestration; that so Praguian habit of throwing nasty politicians out of the window.
Because in Prague I was reminded of the universal commonality of friendship. Like the old men I photographed in Sicily, in Timbuktu, in Costa Rica, they represent what getting old and having a pal is all about.
Soak in the sun. Pass the booze. Shut up and breathe