It´s a beautiful fall night on Avenida Diagonal. Es oscuro. It´s dark. People are out promenading. We could be in Miami, the weather is so balmy, the palms are flowing above us, breezy as a river. The traffic is noisy, if you listen. I don’t. I’m walking with a friend, Blanca, and we’re talking. We’re inspired, we’re tired, but we’re baring our souls. I leave her at the bus stop and I turn around and there it is, a stunning building in lights. A fairytale at night, a castle, a palace. It’s a beacon for me, into my past. One of my pasts. I once had an appointment in this castle. I met with the person in charge of running events. I was working at the time for a Basque woman, a kind of executive’s guru. She hired me, I’ll never know why, to arrange —over the phone— public speaking events for her. She believed I had, in fact, she dared me to have—the nerve to speak Spanish on the phone with my American accent. She was so pleased with the results she was getting from me that she sent me into the castle. I shook hands with the woman in charge and felt completely at home. She was a little blonde woman, as short as me, or maybe shorter. I liked being in that castle. It was perhaps the most beautiful building I had ever been invited to visit. What struck me most about it was the banquet room, or one of the banquet rooms. It was a scene out of Henry VIII. The scene that shows the banquet table after all the guests have gone. The tablecloth, the candelabras, the crumpled heavy cloth napkins, the champagne glasses, the chinaware, the silver, the dishes, were all spirits frozen in time. The chairs still looked warm. There were crumbs scattered around the table, and crusts of bread. The crumbs and the crusts, I love crumbs and crusts, but I didn’t linger, the woman by my side rushed me past those spirits and crumbs, we had business to do!