The bus ride to Nerja from Malaga was only three euros.
Walking down the narrow streets of my first European town. Towards the Balcon. Flanked by stucco. Emotion swells as the mountains and the sea come into veiw, beneath the dark blue sapphire sky. The sound of the tide pounding through the Medditerranean air. An old Spanish widow standing in a doorway, watching her world pass by. Ice cream shops and a certain cafe. Artists on blankets. Horse-drawn carriages. Shoppers and Drinkers. Young girls and Small dogs. Flowers in bloom. Palms in the wind. The whiff of petrol int he whirr of scooters. When I am far away, and I think of Europe, this is the image that comes to me. In that memory, I am over there at that table drinking a vodka lemon or a cococnut seven or something, and the sun is not yet set. This place was my first love.
There are so many things that I should write...
It is dark now. Somewhere out below the balcony a kid just dove into a swimming pool. Across the way a dog has begun barking, maybe at the sound of my typewriter, but probably not. I am using a laptop. If i were to glace over my shoulder, I would see the red glow of a neon sign that reads "Linda's Bar." It is calling me, or maybe that is the night, or my liver, or just the need for human interaction. I don't know anymore. It wasn't always this way.
The first time i came to Nerja. I was skinny nineteen-year old virgin who couldn't drink or smoke; i was just a kid. Every ideal I had ever invented sat on a pedastal untarnished by those experiences which would eventually make me a man. There has never been a day in my life, since i was here the first time that...
...Wait. Sorry, it's that red light. Let's do an experiment. I am going to go to the bar and order one beer, drink it. Then, I am going to come back and finish my thoughts. That is the plan. Let's see what happens...
That was only three days ago.
