I try the pierogis in the square –savory or sweet.  Filled with mashed potatoes and beef, they remind me of the toasted raviolis back home.  I miss home, but watch the square, the people in it; in Krakow there is more street food: brats and kraut, long baguettes piled with sauce and cheese, topped with spinach, bands playing.  I look for solo travelers but I approach no one.  Yesterday, I walked this square, pulling my carry-on behind me, feeling frustrated with no map and no voice for my frustration, save tears.  Eventually I find where I am going, a faded yellow structure where the bathroom smells musty.

The nighttime sky is filled with colors late; I take pictures of the window from my room looking out at more windows.