Once upon time, but not that long ago, I took a taxi to the Koneser vodka factory in the old district of Praga. “Koneser? Zabrowska?”
asked the driver. “Yes, tak, Koneser. Proprosze.”
“Koneser vodka?” The driver clearly expressed this as a question,
as if I didn’t really want to go there at all. Or perhaps he knew something I didn’t. My request was surely not so peculiar.
