sport

barcelona in the rain. i added to the graffiti of the universe by growing a beard. spain is weird about terrorists. they hurry them through the cities in invisible white vans. i like the buildings of catalunya, the pock marked shrapnel stains of civil war. the spray can kids sulked around underpasses and back alleys where once the jews traded and medical wonders were the reserve of monastic gents, drunk on wine and fried eggs. where history is covered in history and sediments of many generations settle, i am always happiest. the gothic quarter held the smell of nine hundred years of damp. pickpockets and graffiti kids made me smile, smiling as they noticed me watching them. i watched lionel messi at camp nou. it almost made me want to be catholic.