Your average Sunday morning. When you wake to the sound of a marching band rumbling down the street at the ungodly hour of 10:00. Although, for those first few groggy moments of waking, I thought it was WW3: Zombie Apocalypse. Head to the cafe for an espresso and some bravas (spicy potatoes), bust open the journal. Take in the sights sounds and smells. Feel very James Baldwin about the whole thing (no he's not the other Baldwin brother, look him up). And then walk into this...
and dance with a random old Spanish lady. She loved it.
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