Stepping into a Dream
I’ve been dreaming of Barcelona summers. It’s been exactly one year since I was wondering around the Catalan city. I miss sitting in a tiny Placa sipping a coffee while I snack on some Prosciutto and melon. Working on my next novel Foster & Chadwick. The sounds and smells of the Gothic Quarter keep me in the moment. Beautiful Spanish babes pass by with curves of elegance. The hot summer sun beats down on me and I listen to Cappadonna’s The Pillage LP. My ears were longing for something hard, maybe it’s the grittiness of the back streets in the Gothic Quarter, I don’t know, but boom bap hip hop from the 90’s really speaks to me when I’m in Spain.
Kids on skateboards roll past and work on heel flips as they wiz in and out of tourists ogling the breath taking architecture that Barcelona wraps it’s patron’s in. Gorgeous women in adidas shell tops and skinny jeans ripped at the knees joke with each other at a table next to me while they sip a cafe and block the sun with some classic Rayban’s. They are locals to be sure, and I can’t help but stare. Their dark hair is hypnotic and their petite curves make so much sense.
Gothic Quarter bliss
On the steps of an old cathedral behind us, a Spanish man takes a nap on the steps of the church. It’s a Wednesday and that guys life seems to be panning out just fine. He by no means looked impoverished or lacking a home, he just seemed like a man that is looking to catch a few winks before he continues on his day.
I could sit there for hours just taking in where I am. Windows of butchers shops have cured ham’s hanging in the windows and fish mongers are slinging all types of creatures from the deep. From prawns to big old honkers, you can find it all in the Gothic Quarter. The prestigious location of Barcelona reminds one of an old pirate town, with it’s narrow corridors and placa’s that expand sometimes into great communal areas where many go to eat and drink and dance the night away.
You find yourself a nice senorita from town and you can bet you are going to be up until the wee hours of the morning shaking that ass and toasting to Catalonia. Maybe she takes you to a cavernous nightclub where the bass reverberates off the stone walls and archways, while going unnoticed by the patrons of the Gothic Quarter above. God bless Barcelona.
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