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Sunday, April 06, 2003 Similar to yesterday morning, hauled myself out from under the covers, this time at a disgustingly early hour (at least according to local standards, for a Sunday morning) because my houseguest of the last 16 or so days was packing up and heading out at a, er, disgustingly early hour. As it was, I got up to find he'd just bolted and so had to stumble out to the landing to call down a brief, quiet see-ya. A couple of hours later: got myself out into the still-cool-but-quickly-warming-up morning air, went to the same neighborhood joint as yesterday for the a.m. infusion of caffeine. No TV this time, or at least the place was full enough with people and morning noise that television sounds didn't register. Sat at the counter where the camarero, having reached the point of excessive familiarity with my face and apparently having resigned himself to it, made and set in front of me my usual espresso, me not having to say a word. (The kind of moment that is startling in the nicest possible way.) I started sipping, reading the newspaper's Sunday magazine through what remained of my morning blurriness. More people enter. A guy sits on the stool to my right, I continue reading. Within a couple of seconds of sitting down, he begins whispering stuff in Spanish. A few words, kind of emphatic, then a pause. A few more, another pause. Then more. Then more, then still more. I finally glance over to check out what's happening, I see that instead of holding a one-sided conversation with himself, this fella's talking to his dog, a black and gray spaniel positioned quietly between our stools. The spaniel finally settles down, sits, and remains with eyes fixed on its person, looking nowhere else. Either completely devoted or waiting for crumbs from an eventual croissant or sweet roll. Pretty cute. These brief, close periods spent in close proximity with other humans with whom we don't speak lead to interesting stuff. Yesterday evening, for example. Went for a long walk along Gran Vía, sidewalks packed with people out enjoying the sunlight and long, slanting shadows of the pre-dusk hour or two. (Packed with human traffic, lots of folks going in and out of high-end clothing stores, many carrying one, two or three shopping bags: ZARA, El C.I., Territorio, T2[n], BxK, etc.) Wound up at la Plaza de España, as I often do when I'm out in wandering/people-watching mode. A spectacularly beautiful evening, summery temperatures quickly cooling as the sun slipped down beyond the horizon. The only available bench along the main promenade had an older male occupying one end. Short, a bit broad in the beam. Close-cropped gray hair, bristling in slightly unkempt fashion. Glasses. He had a cane, and as I sat down I noticed it was actually made from a slim tree-branch. Not prettied up, not smoothed out. Retaining knots and bark and all, with a rubber cap slipped over the smaller end and a bunch of tape wrapped around the larger end, forming a handle that fit neatly into his palm. He didn't look at me or acknowledge me in any way, but as soon as I sat down, he began doing some strange, funky arm-stretching movements. Could have been the real thing or could have been some sort off territorial jazz. Don't know. Okay by me -- he wasn't smiting me about the head or anything. After a couple of minutes he stopped, and sat looking around. As did I, there being a lot to watch and enjoy between the weather, the fresh greenery everywhere, the people out enjoying the evening, the birds flying here and there right through the crowds, the two fountains at either end of the promenade. Lots to see, lots to listen to. Sensory input of all kinds, the kind that remind one how amazing it is to be alive in the middle of it all. The sun went down, the ambient light began to fade a bit. On the buildings around the plaza, neon signage began coming on one by one. At some point, I pulled out my notebook, wanting to scribble down a bunch of stuff before the light dwindled too much. That seemed to spook the older guy, who immediately stood up. He needed a minute or two to convince his body to unstiffen, finally convinced it to walk slowly off toward the end of the promenade that abuts the main drag. An old, unsmiling, stodgy-looking male, not appearing happy about having to share a bench on a lovely spring evening. Appearing even less happy with the idea of me watching and writing. Ah, well. Today: another genuinely beautiful day. The city has been out in the streets enjoying the return of the warm season. It's now just after 9:30, the streets are still jumping with activity. Another weekend has whipped by, another Monday lurks in the wings. Time to get some schoolwork done. Later. rws 3:48 PM [+]
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