Yesterday morning: woke up from a strange dream in which I apparently worked in an office in some capacity, though never saw the office, never learned exactly what my job was. As I ran down a sidewalk, picking up speed (about to lift off, flying to a city somewhere to the east to catch a plane for a transoceanic flight)(why catch a plane for the second leg of the journey? who knows? could be my arms would be tired after the first leg), Chrissy Hynde waylaid me. Apparently superior to me in the office hierarchy, she ordered me to take care of a petty, unnecessary, time-consuming task, insisting on it despite my attempts to reason with her. Once she'd buggered off -- smugly satisfied, thinking she'd forced me to comply -- I managed to weasel my way out of it, woke up before I could take to the air.
Showered, shaved, went out for a shot of caffeine, wound up taking a long walk through the city center. Saw the following:
-- Ahead of me, walking in the same direction: a 30-something male walking a teeny ball of curly fur that trotted ahead of its owner at the end of a long, long leash. I passed the male, slowly came up behind the dog who continued on, absorbed in smelling everything, not looking around but clearly aware of my footsteps. Apparently assuming I was its person. When I drew even with it, the tiny critter glanced over, discovered I was not, in fact, its person -- performing, in that moment of surprise, the most human double-take I have ever seen a non-human do.
-- A short, heavyset woman stood by a streetside paper recycling bin, reading a magazine she'd fished out. As I passed, I got a strong whiff of the sharp, sour smell of alcohol.
-- At an exhibit of paintings by early 20th century realists, I came across several pieces by Edward Hopper, three of which I've seen a bunch of times in other places -- Boston, N.Y., D.C. American images, stuff I associate strongly with being in the States. Stumbling across them in the middle of Madrid, everyone around me murmuring about art in Castellano, caused a strange feeling of disorientation that didn't completely dissipate until I stepped back out into the late morning sunlight. I'd found myself wanting to sneak my camera out in the exhibit, capture some images of the space, the people clustered around different paintings, but the security types were far too vigilant. Headed outside, started taking shots as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, spent the next hour with camera in hand, walking through Madrid.
Cheap, pseudo-arty therapy.
La Plaza de San MartÃn, Madrid, yesterday:
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 6:30 AM [+]
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