all you can eat or save

the longest queue is at the olive stand. two kids are poking the glass, telling their mamá they want this kind and that kind and the other one in the back too. mamá nods her head with her mouth full, she reaches a couple of sample olives and gives them to the hungry ones. hungry for olives. i used to hate these black round terrible things when i was little. but these littles stare at the olives like it's candy and i want to go back in time and recover all the black beauties rolling in the plate and recover all the eggplant salad too and all the watermelon.

every living soul around here is eating churros in the morning at the market. if you're not going to the market, los churros come to you. there is a churreria at every street corner, people stand around high tables, eating them on the run, dipping them in hot chocolate and sometimes they have a shot of anis to jumpstart they morning, gulping on this little glass of anise-flavored glitter drink, like gods after their godly breakfast.

they use scissors for cutting churros and for cutting fish at the mercado central. it is full of sea creatures being slaughtered but the kids don't blink away. shrimps looking like bugs. sepia dripping ink. sea shells and barnacles. pretty twins waiting in line and petits chefs holding hands visiting the vegetables and fruit stands.

these are called navajas which translate as swiss army knifes because of their shape.

we buy them alive, crawling out of the bunch and i want to eat them and save them and eat them and save them. eventually, the humans bring the sea creatures to their death in the frying pan and they taste like chicken and i save the shell and that's all i save and my stomach is happy, but the stomach alone.

front row seats

it's a little white patch, glistening from between the block buildings.

seeing the sea from a distance might be a thousands times better than actually being two feet away. it's a promise. weighing more than the actual object of a promise. the moment you see the white patch, you understand why the lullaby people have less wrinkles and joke more often with all teeth on display.
it's having water close.

you get dizzy from so much light because it's still a january grey in your head. it's temperature lag. the camera feels heavy. the knees aren't listening. the wrists, all too confused. sun makes every thought melt into each other. a mess of meringue. but their thoughts are alright, they take sunbaths every single day. they keep walking, nodding heads, pushing baby strollers, wheel chairs, sprinting, looking ahead, looking sideways.
never at the sea.

this last guy was speaking into the phone, pacing, changing directions, getting wrinkles.
instead of a good old hang up, a good old silence and icecream to go with it.

on the sun diet

there was a countdown to sharp midnight and everybody was eating grapes and then started kissing.

to count down to a new beginning, by looking at numbers changing on an electronic little surface. but there are no seconds and there are no years, there isn't even a straight line. time is just a curl that curls on your skin too and we call those wrinkles. while we float in space curling around a big hot sphere and we call this a sunny weather.

so the first day of january spinning around plasma. just like last year, but this once, closer to the sun. there's still some trapped confetti under the windshield wiper and people are dizzy from all this sun that makes everything look from a commercial. dogs running on the beach, joggers taking a break from running, happy family, colgate time, bath robe time, swimming in the cold, blood pumping, heart racing, feet in the sand, wine in the veins, switch off boots, just lying here, somewhere, far away from people, in the middle of the people.

even ducks. catching fish like they do it on discovery channel.

old couples walking in love circles on the streets, sitting on hot benches.

everything's half the usual price and you can have hot coffee in a dark bar away from the sun. blue glass, strong neon, happy alcohol, time is only in your head, while you're sipping on café con leche in obscure blue lights.