Every day to the beach, routine, ritual, obsession. Johnny felt urgent for more conjuring, a deeper sea tunnel. Weeks went by, yeah sure, he was that dream bird, he’d had the experience, he was bored, but when would it all hatch?
It was that easygoing first week of December in Barcelona, when there was a holiday on Tuesday and a holiday on Thursday, and already folks were easing down or leaving town and some of the eateries and bars were closed up for a few days’ rest before the mad influx of Christmas celebrants began winging their way in.
On his way back home, he remembered that it was Sunday. Creps al Born opened at noon on the weekend. He could pass some time, sit at the bar, get a crepe and maybe a chancy libation. After he got off the oxy, he was afraid he might become too friend
