A barmy Barcelona twilight, lounging about with friends on our sixth story rooftop terrace watching the pink clouds roll over the navy sky, morphing from bird, to skull, to old woman, and the sounds of restless Barcelona city echoing around us. A female operatic vocal drifts out over the array of staggered rooftops and antennae from some afar Spanish fiesta. Not a care in my head. It doesn’t get much better than this.
No comments:
Post a Comment