dinner walk
We finished shooting at midnight on Adam’s last night in the Barcelona. It was a Sunday and all the stores had closed, so we huddled around the lone avocado that I had purchased the day before and split it three ways for our dinner. Adam rounded up all his gear and fell asleep exhausted, Chris stepped into the garden to call his girlfriend, and I dragged a chair into the hallway and tried to understand why I suddenly felt like crying. I wrote out a postcard to Sarah: I don’t want to go back to Brooklyn.
Finally Chris emerged. “Is Adam asleep?”
“Yeah,” I said, wiping at my eyes.
“Do you want to go out and try to find some food?”
So Chris and I set out into the deserted streets in search of food. Through the ghostly, empty labyrinth of the Goti, weaving our way past the building shaped like a boat, across the road by the sea where the late night skater teens eyed each other, then we sat awhile, singing songs by the harbor while the boats twinkled in the darkness, then back through the Goti to La Ramblas, the shadowy late night sister of the daytime Ramblas, where sad single men vomited into trashcans and sadder prostitutes kiss-whistled at us. There, men carried sandwiches in boxes slung at their hips. We got our sandwiches and left the Ramblas quickly, hands in pockets to avoid the thieves. Then took the slow way home, through empty streets and quiet shop fronts. Dawn was chasing us.
An hour after we returned, while I struggled to fall asleep, Adam awoke and gathered his things in the dark. He opened the door, and the hall light flooded in, silhouetting him and his pack so that he seemed a great giant standing in the doorway. “Vaya con dios mis amigos,” said the giant, and he closed the door behind him.
Finally Chris emerged. “Is Adam asleep?”
“Yeah,” I said, wiping at my eyes.
“Do you want to go out and try to find some food?”
So Chris and I set out into the deserted streets in search of food. Through the ghostly, empty labyrinth of the Goti, weaving our way past the building shaped like a boat, across the road by the sea where the late night skater teens eyed each other, then we sat awhile, singing songs by the harbor while the boats twinkled in the darkness, then back through the Goti to La Ramblas, the shadowy late night sister of the daytime Ramblas, where sad single men vomited into trashcans and sadder prostitutes kiss-whistled at us. There, men carried sandwiches in boxes slung at their hips. We got our sandwiches and left the Ramblas quickly, hands in pockets to avoid the thieves. Then took the slow way home, through empty streets and quiet shop fronts. Dawn was chasing us.
An hour after we returned, while I struggled to fall asleep, Adam awoke and gathered his things in the dark. He opened the door, and the hall light flooded in, silhouetting him and his pack so that he seemed a great giant standing in the doorway. “Vaya con dios mis amigos,” said the giant, and he closed the door behind him.
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