When I woke up, it was already dark. From the other apartment, I heard the squatters arguing about various injustices, their voices climbing up on top of each other, building toward a wobbly pyramid of outrage. I went in to join them at the table.
Pau scowled at me. “Deserter.”
“Sorry. Did you get her tattoo finished?”
“Yes. But now she’s addicted.”
“Oh, poor you. You might have to see her again. You might even have to sleep with her.”
“Never,” he said. “She’s not my type.”
Everyone else at the table was talking a little too loudly – they seemed tipsier than usual. Pau poured some wine into a mug and handed it to me. “You need to catch up.”
I drained the mug and Pau refilled it. Soon after, we all stomped down the stairs and into the street. As we headed toward the city centre, Sy
