Barcelona's Strange Barberism

Today I met my friends and we wander around feeling like rascals. Afterwards alone, the strange barbarism of Barcelona reasserts itself. The old woman absently chewing on a piece of bread as she stands on the footpath, gazing dully through the laundromat window, her urine running down from under from under her ragged dress and following me as I walk away from her down the hill.

The other woman, who suddenly, violently exclaims as she swivels, swings and with her open palm venomously slaps the wall beside her.

Or the man I wished I hadnžt seen, his face deformed yet smooth, one side tear--dropping down his neck, his brown eyes numbed to the startled disgust that springs involuntarily from my first glance. He walked quickly past me and childhood dreams crept back.

I was scared for myself-proof that lifes worth living. I donžt know.