Small plazas, busy bars, colorful shops.
The usual morning chit-chat makes for a slow moving queue in a tabaqueria.
I take a short break for a croissant and coffee and watch drunks and junkies and anarchists and their dogs, who – like me, bask in morning sunlight.
Unlike me, they are not bothered by filthy streets smelling of urine and vomit.

I bike down Las Ramblas.
On a Saturday morning, Barceloneta is a better place to be.
Down by the sea, palm trees and blue sky.
Narrow streets with worn out buildings overlooking each other.
The smell of clean laundry hanging from the balconies, the sound of the wind whirling through white sheets, the sound of seagulls…

Time for a joint on the beach and the deep-is-the-sea-wide-is-the-sky meditation.
I lie down on the sand and watch the clouds move.
Soon it will be time to go home.
I fill my lungs with fresh sea air and look for my bike.
It’s gone.

Another beautiful day in Barcelona.

Alien, alienated. That's me.

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