Part 23
I left the massage parlor and stumbled my nobody noodled body down the narrow streets of Barcelona. Guided by the moonlight as the Gargoyles of La Sagrada Familia kept guard.
Carolinas pied à terre was near Las Ramblas and I had consciously memorized the alleyways that led back to her warm pillows.
The stoop appeared and I stepped on every step with thirst.
I crossed the door and cursed my way down the hall. My alcove was the last one on the left. It had a balcony filled with gothic alabaster carvings . Half jokingly I said to myself the original Count Dracula must have landed here.
I laid my cold bones on these crisp linens and prayed for orgasm filled dreams.
Morning broke over the Mediterranean and I took it all in. The guilt of such a view warred with my desire for Olivia's loins and lost.
I hate writing in the mornings, I usually reserve them for sex but Carolina was in her chalet in Andorra and yours truly was the loneliest ranger in this piso.
I wrote for half an hour, hit the shower and got dressed to take the city.
Breakfast at noon has always been my style and today wouldn't be any different.
My cafe con leche and three fried eggs with plenty of Catalunias best grain bread hit me like a Mike Tyson's left hook, now I was awake.
I chased boredom away yet loneliness never left my side.
I was haggling the price of dried fruit with a merchant at an open market as I felt the strange murmuring in my coat pocket. I was so engrossed in my conversation that I had no idea what the twitch was about.
Stuck my free hand into my wool jacket and read the words that would forecast the next twenty four hours of bliss that were going to rain on me.
Hola Poeta.
To be continued.
