The rain came this morning and the waves hit the shore all sluggish and grey.
up by the Dutch bakers where I bought a loaf of "barra Gallega" for 95 cents, the tramp sits with his box.
He has a look of resignation and a quite dignity, he does not beg, just looks a little sullen and bemused.
Am I to give him a packet of fags, a loaf of bread, or is that to patronise?
or should I ask who will give me bread, who will patronise me?
walking round these now familiar roads, these now tired looking tapas bars, Armange at Los Buccanoros does not remember me, looks jaded and does not seem to care.
Do I see myself in the tramp in Afmange at Los Buccanoros?
Questions and spring birds sing in the wet Saturday in south Spain, their voices are sweet and simple.
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