“Hey Mister, what’cha doing?”
“I’m doing Algeciras-man stuff. Sitting. Spitting sunflower seeds. Rolling my next cigarette. Chatting with other guys doing the same. You know, important man-stuff.”
“Interesting skill set. Is that what you do most days?”
“Yup. All day. Everyday. Until my siesta. Then I lie down.”
“Shouldn’t you be working on your resume? Or maybe upgrading your word processing skills? A man with eyebrows of your calibre should have plenty of opportunities. I hear there is a future in geriatric care.”
“Nah, kid. We got 30 percent unemployment around here. They take 100 applications a day to peddle hash. Besides, I’m holding out for gig as an advisor to the mayor. My brother-in-law’s, neighbour’s sister just married the Mayor’s second cousin so I am a shoo-in.”
“Well, good luck with that. And tell the mayor that the good people of Algeciras need more shade for their benches. And maybe some ashtrays. Gotta run. There are some pigeons over there that need chasing.”
“Wow, that’s good kid. You could have a future in Algeciras politics. Hey kid. Wanna smoke? Come back!”
You won’t be hearing from me for a couple of days, dear readers. February 28th is “Día de Aldalucia” and Rogelio has a 5 day weekend. We are off on our last vacation as a family of three. Yes, with a full term baby belly, I am planning, packing, and cooking for a little get-a-way. I call it anti-nesting. It is my brilliant reverse psychology to convince the baby to get its buns in gear for a smooth landing. Soon.
Fear not, we will only be an hour from home at Bolonia.
So we will catch up next week. Unless of course I go into labour on the beach!