Vašra is a city no-one can visit, though millions have seen it. Vašra is a phantom: a reflection of something that isn’t there. I first saw this phantasmagorical city while wandering through the streets of Bratislava, and—much later—Omůt. I’ve heard rumors that one may see it (only in reflections, of course) in Moscow, in Prague, and in the every east-facing window in Croatia. In Pekkur (where Vašra reflects only at night) I heard poets debating the origins of that city, and guessing at the language spoken there. Vašra , I have come to understand, is one of the world’s most profound mysteries. It is an old, European city. It does not reflect in Asian glass, or glass at home in any of the Americas. Millions have seen Vašra, however; and millions more will. No one has ever been there, though I’ve heard (on rare occasions) that visitors from Vašra may walk among us. They buy souvenirs from our world and eat at various cafés. They meander into theaters to enjoy our staged drama, or our ballet or our sporting events and concerts. When their time here is over, they simply wander onto a quiet, deserted street and step into glass, vanishing into a world that lives only in reflections. I saw orange balconies, yesterday, and a neighboring building reflected in blue-tinged glass. The balconies—I knew—belonged to one of the newer high-rise condo-stacks in my home city. The reflections, I knew, were of a similar pre-fab monstrosity, just across the street. The reflections I saw were not Vašran n in nature, though I do wonder, on occasion, if that city (or any other meta-real place) might ever reflect in glass born on North American soil. I think so, though I wonder why no one has seen such realms or learned their names. Vašra , I think, cannot be the only city in its world. It is, however, the only one we’ve seen. * * * There may be more to the story above. And then again, there may not be. One never knows, and ultimately, I suspect it all depends on whether or not I’m interested enough in the idea to pursue it. Later. After it percolates. I do like the idea of a city that can only be seen in reflection. I like the idea of people from that city, crossing into this world, while members of our own reality are completely unable to set foot there. I’m sure there are reasons for that. They simply haven’t revealed themselves. I took this picture on my birthday. I went to Evanston with Corey and Kate and Steve. We enjoyed a casual brunch and simply meandered around the isles of Barnes and Noble books for a while. I caught these garish orange balconies and blue-tinged glass just outside of the Barnes and Noble, stunned that downtown Evanston had changed as much as it had, and so quickly. I once worked in Evanston and had reason to visit Chicago’s northern neighbor on countless other occasions as well; the newer, taller buildings were not there at the time…and so Evanston, in some ways, has become like another world for me. I thought of Vašra while smoking a cigarette and wondering about the reflections I saw ahead of me, and slightly above. I wondered if I turned around, if I’d be shocked to learn that the reflected building was not the building behind me. I turned. I saw the source of the reflection and felt a vague twinge of disappointment. The building matched its distorted reflection. I went through the remainder of my day, wondering what anyone would think of looking at distant window-glass and seeing a completely different city reflected back at them… As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great week.