It is 6:50am US Central time, 1:50pm in Spain. I didn’t notice the graveyard of empty wine bottles, pills, and cigarettes scattering the tabletops in front of the man when I sat down with my espresso- probably because I haven’t slept in over 24 hours. He started smoking in the café, harassing the waitress, flicking flaming tobacco sticks in her hair. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to shout American swear words to sound foreign and dangerous, like I was in the mafia. That Italian guy who worked with me at the YWCA always called me his bambina, and said he’d look out for me, so that means I practically am in the mafia. Which mafia exactly I am not sure.
But they’re not here to back me up right now, and I am sleep deprived. It would have been an entertaining sight for the travelers to see though… like two sedated bears lumbering around each other taking swings but neither making contact, ending up with the airport police carting us away.
I was that person on the bench. You can’t see their face because they are turned toward the backrest, and a rumpled jacket covers their disturbingly still form. Something smells, but you can’t quite be sure if it’s coming from the rubbish bins, the rest rooms, or from them. Just to be safe, you walk a bit quicker and avert your children’s eyes. You pity them a little bit, but mostly you are just glad you are not that person. I was that person.
I made it to Granada after 28 hours of traveling, with no sleep. I don’t remember much, but I do recall ordering my first glass of wine in a restaurant. :)
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