My woozy stomach was already cursing the foolhardy decision to opt for canas over claras and fried croquetas instead of the lighter salmorejo dip that [Cafe in Sol] has become so famous for. Mmm, well, some things are worth it, I tried to reason with my gut as I bumbled, more nauseous than drunk, down a familiar street that I had crossed through so many times I didn’t even bother to remember its name anymore. Calle de Correo, perhaps? Yeah, that sounded about right.
Just as I was halfway down the block, absently reminding myself not to miss the left turn ahead onto Calle de Montera, which would take me more-or-less right to my girlfriend’s new apartment up in Chueca, I noticed two young kids playing around near one of those new phone booths. Now, when I say “kid,” I don’t mean a child or anything, since these two were obviously at least teenagers. I’d hope so – it was probably close to four in the morning at that point, since I know I left [Cafe in Sol] at about a quarter ’till and made it up to Lucia’s about an hour and a half before our daybreak fuck.
Anyway, I knew before I even got within hearing distance that those two were well trashed. They were frolicking on some scaffolding like complete buffoons, sipping their daftly concealed beers from plastic bags.
That kind of thing really never bothers me, especially in tourists – which these kids certainly seemed to be, with strange pink and blue fanny-pack caps strapped on their heads and matching shirts so bright and unfashionable they must have come from Amsterdam or something – so I didn’t make any effort to walk on the other side of the street or avoid eye contact as I passed by them. I was only caught slightly off-guard when the girl jumped out in front of me, grinning widely with a small camera in her hand, and asked – in giddy, slurred, broken Spanish – if I could take a picture for them.
“Sure,” I responded, returning her buzzed smile. I’m a pretty sociable person and don’t mind helping people out if it’s easy for me, so I wasn’t going to sweat the hold-up a quick photo might cost.
“Thanks! We want to take it over here!” She started doing this weird half-prance, half-run thing toward the side of the phone booth facing the curb and stopped – with an emphatic and embellished clap of her hands – in front of an overflowing trashcan. There were tons of cardboard boxes, broken furniture legs, moldy food wrappers, smashed drink containers, and probably a few used condoms and diapers – you know the scene – strewn all about the concrete she was standing on. It was making my stomach twist and rumble even more just to be standing there.
“Uh, you sure you want it here, by the trash?” I asked, thinking to myself there must be some kool thing in the background view that I just couldn’t see or get.
“Yep!” Pink Freak and the the boy – who had, in the brief couple of seconds that I was distracted fiddling with the camera’s buttons, managed to to lift the front of his shirt up, over his head, and behind his neck, so that his bony torso (except for the shoulder-blades, which were still covered by sleeves) was exposed – answered in eager unison. They seemed to think everything was fine with the situation, so I just laughed and decided I would go ahead and do them the small favor of cutting out as much of the gross litter and filth as I could. I made sure that the picture captured them from the waist up only.
Considering their wacky and cracked-out appearance, it didn’t turn out half bad. I passed the camera back into Blue Monster’s anxiously outstretched hand, feeling pretty proud of myself.
“Thank you so much!” he called out with an excess of glee, hurriedly pressing the buttons to scroll through the recently taken photos. I shrugged, waved, and backed away to continue on toward Calle de Montera. Before I turned around, though, I saw Pink Freak cock her head over Blue Monster’s shoulder and let out a high-pitched sigh of what sounded like extreme disappointment. I wonder if the picture didn’t save for some reason, I thought to myself, debating whether or not to go back and offer to take another one. But I was too titillated by the thought of being in Lucia’s clean and comfy apartment to want to spend any more time on the street, especially hanging out with those dirty young kooks.
“OH GOD! Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Blue Monster’s perturbed shout resonated much more than Pink’s frail wail had. Looking back, he even seemed to be slamming his head furiously against the side of the glass booth. I figured it was as good a time as any to hurry on out of there. Harmless and amusing as the two of them seemed, by now I already had a good enough story to tell Lucia about the walk over without waiting around any longer or taking any chances. Blue Monster’s voice continued to carry through the street, though his voice had shifted into something completely uncharacterizable – a swollen tone of exaggerated earnest that was both desperate and infuriated at once. I swear I even heard Pink Freak start to break down into a squeaky, shrill series of wordless cries.
“It’s okay though, we can fix this, I think. Somehow!” Thankfully Blue Monster’s anguish and panic seemed to be replaced by a sudden sense of hope, “We’re just gonna have to sacrifice something. It won’t be perfect, but we’ll manage! Here, here, you go first.” At this point I was nearing my turn at the far end of the sidewalk and had no hope of seeing or hearing Pink Freak’s response.
….
I wonder what their problem was and if they ever managed to solve it. I also wonder what on earth it was they needed a photo of so badly. I’m sure I saw several flashes going off from back behind me as I walked down Montera, so I can only assume the camera started working well enough for them to capture whatever little piece of Madrid it was that they wanted to remember forever.
