The last few days in Prague. At first the museums and theatres closed. Then the cafes and restaurants. The railways transported fewer and fewer people who preferred to stay at home. Certainly also because it is no fun to go outside when you hear the sirens of ambulances or police cars more and more often. The metro stations seemed to be deserted. The company, whose rehearsals I had wanted to photograph, called to say that the rehearsals with the whole group would be cancelled for the weekend, that only the performer Barbora wanted to work on a solo. I went there. She explained that it should be about aging and the refusal of people to accept the aging of their bodies, their skin. After she had warmed up, she took cling film from a small backpack and stretched it over her face. I almost hold my breath, because her performance fitted in so much with the claustrophobic, almost breathless situation that had settled outside over the city, the whole country. The next day it gradually leaked out that the Czech Republic wanted to close its borders. I took the last train out of town.