Calle Colombia & Valapraisco

In my headphones ignoring a world I always saw was a man who wore the same scuffed shoes everyday and the same clothes. His complexion was almost black as tar. He owned the corner like a piece of real estate standing there every morning directing traffic and parking cars for people who didn’t need it. All this for loose change and euros. Honest and easy work for pay with no taxes. He saw me and I saw him but we never looked at each other. And then finally, in the most awkward moment of my life we locked eyes and said hi. When I think of Spain, it’s beauty and history is drowned by that corner and his face.

A man with no name became the best memory of my life and my biggest regret of not saying more.

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