C ITY cosmopolitan, plural ... In preparing their unexpected meetings nights, daytime bustle pervades everything. The rush, sex and the hundreds of languages \u200b\u200babound their sidewalks while car horns pierce your eardrums hum of the Andalusians. The mannequins in the windows cast their perfect shape on the modernist carpet when it gets dark streets and neon lights flash as well as your eyes. This is when the dragons and gnomes come to life and facades weave a tapestry of enchantment and mystery abroad. Happens then the lost soul of the traveler looking for places where beach and meet people who, clueless as he lights up the night with his youthful indolence and naughty teen face. One, who long ago stopped believing in rolls with an expiration date, warning remains barricaded behind the shield of indifference. More nostalgia of arms to cling to the warmth of a den Tarragona Street and the rubbing of hands on your waist will make you forget the paper and your name it. "Night weakens the hearts ..." said Ismael Serrano and mine-recosido and more patches to the pants of a schoolboy-needed Sunday morning a pair of crutches to keep his old tic-tac. In this instance, the case still undone, museums full of brochures that you hate, I return to my daily routine, my coffee in the CEA, and I think the trip is only a truce in our lives far away, a balm to follow live on this side of town where the antennas of a litter the sky Spring is coming.
(Dedicated to an enfant terrible with whom I met in the Plaça de la Universitat)
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