Pouring it down. Four floors above some tiny street of downtown Madrid. 1:50 p.m. A boat's cockpit, a few windowed square meters that the landlord stole from the terrace, that's the kitchen there (or what my roommates call a testing ground…

In two days a list will be published. A surname will be missed in the registry office, another will appear at a border, two initials will cross a secret gate, a country will enter a rank, a song will fall to the ground. I never dealt well …

A good friend of mine wrote once that, in his heart, Barcelona was twenty five. Now that I think of Madrid, I guess I could write something like that. I still remember when I reached that city in a moving van. I was carrying with me a chee…