on saturday there is a handsome young man from the past with watery eyes, who is now rendered irrecognisable by the passage of time, who kisses his nephews on sundays, who tells old man jokes at the table, who staggers a little with his walking cane.
on saturday night there is the splendour of a volkswagen furgoneta, taking a bunch of us up the road, round the hill, past the town famous for building the largest nativity set out of chocolate, up the mountain, past the bridge and into a pueblo called iznajar, full of smalltown girls in miniskirts and into a club where cisco plays some reggae tunes, and we play a little
on tuesday there is a small table containing about 4 varieties of coffee beans. there is cisko and sisi, there is adri and la chata, there is the boy and there is me. there is talk of the election results in italy (cough, cough), and of arty projects.
all week there are little ones in the patio.