Prague in October, where Seifert fantasises Mozart’s ‘effortless’ efforts at hacheks. Prague in February where an anonymous hachek like Kafka at the stroke of a pen condemns Kafka, would have all his ever-ever-ever words disappear. Prague in April where nature’s packet of hacheks breaks the soil so some fortunate like Nezval can flower forth brief showery beauties. Prague in June where Hrabal once more is the king of all hacheks, laughs at the summer sun from his window. Prague in August where war again is a word that Hašek may line up and fire at a hundred rounds of hacheks.