Maggie Scratch in Barcelona Today with a Playwright


Plaça Sant Pere

Actually it wasn’t today, it was yesterday and I arrived late. I love this plaza but I can never find it, tucked away, undiscovered, graceful, quiet, with lovely ferny frondy trees dancing a ballet. We didn’t eat outside and my friend was waiting for me patiently at a remodeled sewing table-now- dining-table, sowing her seeds in I-don’t-remember-what, but she was busy with something, peaceful and smiling and she warmed my heavy heart. For I did arrive with a heavy heart. A disappointment. A betrayal. Nothing to do with sex. I asked her if she was hungry and later we did go inside and eat. It’s French, this bar Aparte. We had their fried croissant with some yummy French cheese and melted tomato on top, presented in a yellowish puddle that we cut with a knife and fork and was divine. But that was later when it got crowded and noisy. We started on our own little planet. Luckily she didn’t mind going outside with me. We sat on two little chairs right outside the bar while I smoked a sweet cigarette. I drank wine. She drank coffee. And so the meeting began. I always thought her eyes were blue! They’re not! They’re melting jade! She writes three-act plays. She writes two-act plays. She writes one act plays, she writes ten minute plays, she writes surreal plays, she writes screenplays. They get produced. They get reviewed. They get sold out in Barcelona. She works for the homeless and domestic violence. She bites her nails and flips her hair. I touched her cheek. It’s peachy, but it’s rough. Her smile is a searchlight, I love that smile. It doesn’t appear on a regular basis. It’s like a present when it’s on. It was shining when she explained the way life is, the way she sees the world. How it’s divided into two parts.

The Dickheads


The Non-Dickheads

So, here’s what I recommend. If your heart is broken, try to decide about the person involved. Dickhead or Non-Dickhead? It could be a breakthrough.


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