BARCELONA: 13

My higgledy heart is a frozen lake of fire with molten ice cubes floating in.

The devil on a cloud. Endless gloaming. That small troll grew and grew, and flew past me, rubbing against my entire body, wiping off the baroque pearls, the mud makeup, and my preciously infernal costume. The romp concludes. I was back on the roof of hell.

Sharp and squiggly, the world came back to me as floating contours:

Above, eight spires.

Below, the steps to the Sagrada Familia

Ahead, a crowd, with Llúcia walking towards me, asking,

“Naif, is that you? How’d your face get so red?”

I replied,

‘s a tan!


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