MY DATE WITH MARCO FLORES

that he wouldn't be in town for long, and that i probably wouldn't have another justifiable opportunity to spend the night at the newly reopened hotel alfonso xiii were more than enough to make me nervous about being on time. and that i had no idea of how to get myself quickly from aljarafe to the center of the city on foot and hadn't ever ridden the metro were sufficient enough reasons for me to give the train a try. but, even for my excitement, i was tired from the dog show in aljarafe; and even though san juan alto and puerta de jerez aren't separated by that many stops, i did manage to doze off, and when i found myself again awake, nervous and excited, the train was on its way to amate. i knew there was a park by that name, but i'd never visited and hadn't any way of knowing that it wasn't on the way back to the hotel when i arrived. nervous and increasingly late, i felt even less inclined to ask for directions than normal -- and not at all ironically ever since my experience of having been sent back in the direction of the campana when i asked to be directed to the plaza de la magdalena, not knowing that i was already there. so i rushed away in the direction of wherever, which happened to be in one of the other directions further from where i was trying to go. time lost, but not necessarily opportunity: i could at least tell mr. flores all about the curious neighborhood between the park and calle ingeniero la cierva. and my curiosity there was less a result of having stumbled onto a quiet subdivision of unassuming single family houses that more resembled the outskirts of phoenix than what you'd think to find in that part of this city, but was more acutely stimulated by the question of why most of the houses were displaying images of the rocio or the esperanza of triana. for christ's sake -- literally in this instance -- at least choose a virgin from this side of the river... i didn't have much time to think it over, however, because it wasn't long before i exited out of the bougainvillea and porro scented streets onto ingeniero la cierva, which is an entirely different curiosity. it's silly to try to convey what was simply a reoccurrence of unrelated memories, especially without presenting any concrete point of reference, so i won't try to describe why it seemed to me that the street might have been in chiang mai if thailand had suddenly been repopulated by indians. suffice it to say that i felt strongly dissuaded against taking pictures, and not just because of my hurry. (sufficient?) so i kept walking up the street in what became obvious was another of those directions away from the center. then i saw lisboa and hadn't any reason not to go that way. familiarity. and, luckily, that way was the one to someplace familiar. but when i'd arrived at the outer wall of the matadero on the ronda de tamarguillo i couldn't decide whether it would be quicker to head to the station at san bernardo or the one at nervión, and the only reason that i chose the latter course was because the slaughterhouse wall was shorter in that direction. i'm happy now, however, that that's the way i went, because i might otherwise not have ever come across that clinic: the one with the sign that shows a snake winding its way around the giralda -- and a soccer ball. hahahahaha. and you think that's crazy? just picture me in front of the hospital san juan de dios: maybe i just needed a bit of sympathy, but i would have given quite a bit at that moment to be hippocratically sedated and milling about on the balconies with the other patients. even my date with marco flores -- although it wasn't valuing much just then. if i couldn't get myself into the hospital, i'd have to try to calm myself. but, why the need for the anxiety in the first place? i hadn't any reason to think that anyone had told him to expect me, and i couldn't really expect that he would just show up at the hotel all on his own. so why shouldn't i take my time and enjoy the walk? i mean, i wasn't going to not pay for a room at the alfonso xiii just to sleep there by myself. hahahahaha. so i don't go. if only i hadn't wasted all that time in aljarafe trying to find us the perfect pet, because that certainly wasn't for me. i'm really not the biggest fan of dogs. good thing i hadn't committed myself to any deals. committed. ha. that bitch up there on the balcony has all the luck.