>barcelona sex, madrid heat
>curious circumstances and interesting anecdotes for future parties.
my last barcelona morning started at exactly 7:20am when i tip toed out of my hostel to catch my madrid train. i suppose tip toeing wasn´t necessary as the hollers of a masturbating girl in the showers echoed throughout the corridors. i wondered who else was giggling uncontrollably in their beds as i was.
i stuck my head out my cab window as it sped me to Estacio Sants.
unbeknownst to me in Nice when i booked this 1st class train (i won a first class eurail pass, after all), is how much it resembles a plane. they served me breakfast like a celebrity. whole wheat buns, croissants with little jars of pure honey, scrambled eggs, large roséed mushrooms, strawberry yogurt mousse, mineral water, pure orange juice, coffees and teas. i was astonished. a po-mo spanish train with star trekian sliding doors and a tv screen that played (on the free headphones they gave me) my favourite film of the year no less, ocean´s twelve. this film has been the soundtrack of my trip, and i was able to follow it along in espanol like a rembrandt.
i laughed at the odds, as i had just finished listening to Nikkfurie´s ¨Thé à la Menthe¨moments earlier. that laser scene is a movie-history maker.
then after they served us a quick lunch of fine baguettes and cream cheeses from southern france, we arrived in hot madrid heat with the typical spaniards asking me my name, if i wanted a tall cerveza, or a quick fuck.
the prostitutes line Calle Montera like frilly soldiers, and the police sit on the corner to sip their starbucks with myopia. perhaps you might be shocked to discover i am a prostitution-as-legal-and-equitable-employment advocate.
but then again, for those who know me, you´re probably just rolling your eyes at the predictability.
3 days of madrid sol, art, and my silly bus tours to keep my imagination hamstering on a wheel.
but when i looked in the bathroom mirror of the train, all i saw was ugly with bronzed skin.