The final week of August in Barcelona. The most magical time of the year. Most shops in my street are closed now. The air is a gentle embrace, a warm reminder, a soft, lingering gift. There’s a completely different crowd of people walking around all the local people have gone to their pueblo or the sea. The remaining employees amble at half their usual speed, having been assaulted these previous weeks with such heat and humidity that they cannot help but break their habit of rushing. The light is bright, but not fierce everything feels an incredible state of balance. There is a breeze from the sea. From my local coffee shop I hear Chet Baker. Everyone is open to being seduced.
