Thursday Morning Coffee Shop Violence

story

It’s eleven forty in the morning. I’m sitting in the corner of a triangular shaped bar, which sits on the corner of a triangular square in the nice pedestrian neighborhood of Gracia, in Barcelona. I’m here trying to write a letter to someone I left behind. I have an espresso coffee. I’m distracted by a guy with very thick frames speaking loudly and pompously two tables away. Then I’m distracted by all the teenagers outside -there’s a high school just next door. They’re standing around in little groups, having their mid-morning snack.