Friday, July 09, 2004

On our way to Pamplona

A woman shooes away a butterfly from a
glass display of Rolexes. There are tin
pails beneath our bar stools full of
cigarettes and receipts. Lat night a
man told us that the bull is the virility
of the male. The picador is the bride´s
father. The man with the banderillos is
her mother. Finally, when the bull is
ready to submit to marriage, out comes
the matador: the bride. He is ready to
change his life. This morning we woke
to cement blasters. I looked down from
our open window, naked, and a cement
worker stared straight back at me.
We´re off now on our five hour bus trip
to Pamplona.


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