This is my hood. Plaza Francesc Macia in the Eixample de Barcelona. Finally it feels like fall. The wind is blowing, that sapphire sky I write about is back. There are shadows and intense chiaroscuros. It’s an inspiring day. I take the elevator down and greet Sonia, the portera, wearing my dark sunglasses and my new black riding-hat-baseball-cap and we laugh at ourselves. Sonia is young, in her twenties, already losing her thin black hair. She’s pretty and smart and yesterday she rescued my bathing suit! It had fallen from my hands when the clothespin slipped. It blew away like a big leaf, like a flag, like my favorite rag. It fell in slow motion, drifting down past the rafters and the old laundry lines, past the drain pipes and the sticky city windowsills. I cheered its safe landing on Sonia’s back patio where only she could retrieve it, in the back of my apartment, eight stories below!