Story: A Quiet Stroll amongst Books and Roses

Peel face from hostel pillow surprised you could do it. Buy Coke downstairs at check-out and slip into pocket for lack of time. Squash sloshy stomach into backpack belt and packmule across historic district to train station everyone said was the right one but is not. Take Metro to the other. Have Metro break down. Chew on fact you probably could have made a convenient transfer at the stop just before the one you are now stranded at. Walk upstairs to headache-compounding sunlight and press through fleshy St Jordi's Day crowd.* Flag taxi in stacked sunblind traffic. Ask innocent question—cuánto cuesta—and have driver shout at you to get your pack out of the car—“Cógelo! Cógelo!”—and take off saying “Un fiasco!” Get in next taxi without saying a word. Put hand on things to make sure they're still with you: Backpack; Stomach; Head. Buy ticket at correct station with time to spare now that you've missed the train you wanted. Sigh. Pull luke-warm Coke out of pocket, open, pour contents down throat. Become aware of moment's parallel with commercials featuring product as deliverer. Feel glamorous; suppress. Feel cheap; suppress. Amused. Fish book out of pack. Read until train comes or nausea returns.

*On St. Jordi's Day in Barcelona, Spain, the men give women roses and the women give books to the men. To accomodate this innocent sweetness, there are in all the city's public spaces thousands of roses for sale and thousands of tables of books, attracting thousands and thousands of people. It is the perfect time, for a masochist, to try and cross town with a hangover, twice the weight on his back he needs and half the time.