Sitting on a hard bench in Calle Real, La Palma, people watching, hidden behind my obligatory mask, hidden from the cast of my unsuspecting passing street theatre.
Friends and enemies greeting each other, customary, agreeable. A woman with blue hair swished past, another clumping on fashionable heels, bearing discomfort in the name of moda ...moda indeed.
I came to wondering how I got here, not my uncomfy street furniture, but Spain, for over fourteen years now. I recalled one night driving from the south of Fuerteventura to my then home near the airport and thinking the same thing, windows down, radio on...fireflies caught in the headlights, enjoying my semi tropical dream...wondering when I will wake.
I´m still dreaming.
Dream on.
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