I wrapped my fingers around Manu’s watch. “Don’t look back” – that’s what he’d always said. And it was good advice if you were running away. But I didn’t want to keep running, always moving forward through a world I didn’t quite belong in, everything slipping away behind me.
I decided to go to La Rambla and look for Atlas. With his unusual job of standing perfectly still, there was a good chance he’d be where I was expecting. When I found him in his regular spot, I joined the small group of tourists who were watching and taking his picture. After they walked off, Atlas jumped down from his crate.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m okay. How it’s going with the Romanians?”
“Bah. Bunch of bludgers. I think they’ve moved on.”
We sat down on his crate. His gold paint smell was familiar
