Little Lima in Barcelona
I met a Peruvian in Barcelona.
I didn't even know the city had suburbs before he asked me to meet him out there. I took the metro to Llacuna, and noticed him outside of a grocery store with a huge blue sign - the name escapes me right now. His curly black hair clashed with the brick highrises. His teeth were crooked, but his English was excellent. He told me that he studied abroad in Mississippi for a year, and that he loved America. I told him that if he liked Mississippi, he'd like it anywhere. He smiled. I don't think he got the joke.
Suburbian malls look the same in Spain as they do in the US - I think they probably look the same in every country. I stopped and peered inside a store that looked the Spanish version on Electronics Boutique. It was a restaraunt. Since it wasn't in the Gothic quarter, it probably served something other than overpriced cold tapas. Too bad I wasn't hungry.
His apartment looked like my great aunt's house, except with a view overlooking the Mediterranean. His eyes were wide as I picked up a frame contained a young guy with glasses and a dark girl laughing - her white teeth almost translucent. He said that it was his roommate and they didn't get along. He was in the shower. In his room, Abercrombie jeans and polos were nearly stacked to the ceiling on top of a dresser, next to some clear koosh balls. The jeans were incredibly expensive to import, he said. He missed American brands. They were the best.
When we left, we climbed out of the balcony (he didn't want to explain anything to his roommate) and dropped a whole story down to the street in front of a startled old lady. Luckily, I needed the time.
"Que ora es, senora?"
"No hay tiempo ahora."
I didn't even know the city had suburbs before he asked me to meet him out there. I took the metro to Llacuna, and noticed him outside of a grocery store with a huge blue sign - the name escapes me right now. His curly black hair clashed with the brick highrises. His teeth were crooked, but his English was excellent. He told me that he studied abroad in Mississippi for a year, and that he loved America. I told him that if he liked Mississippi, he'd like it anywhere. He smiled. I don't think he got the joke.
Suburbian malls look the same in Spain as they do in the US - I think they probably look the same in every country. I stopped and peered inside a store that looked the Spanish version on Electronics Boutique. It was a restaraunt. Since it wasn't in the Gothic quarter, it probably served something other than overpriced cold tapas. Too bad I wasn't hungry.
His apartment looked like my great aunt's house, except with a view overlooking the Mediterranean. His eyes were wide as I picked up a frame contained a young guy with glasses and a dark girl laughing - her white teeth almost translucent. He said that it was his roommate and they didn't get along. He was in the shower. In his room, Abercrombie jeans and polos were nearly stacked to the ceiling on top of a dresser, next to some clear koosh balls. The jeans were incredibly expensive to import, he said. He missed American brands. They were the best.
When we left, we climbed out of the balcony (he didn't want to explain anything to his roommate) and dropped a whole story down to the street in front of a startled old lady. Luckily, I needed the time.
"Que ora es, senora?"
"No hay tiempo ahora."