of a tapas bar in Cornella de L'lobregat, just outside of Barcelona. I
dropped the change I had come there to get for the bus that would be at the
bus stop, which was about a 5 minute run away, in about 5 minutes.
If I missed the bus, I would miss my plane again, and be stuck in Barcelona
for another 24 hours.
I ran to the bus stop to find Rosario still waiting there with my luggage. We had walked from her apartment for at least an hour, following the same path I had walked the night before in a futile attempt to find the hotel I had miraculously booked online back at Pili's in St. Just Desvern.
"Que pasa?" said Rosario as I tried to catch my breath and rubbed my now
very swollen and numb left hand. By the time I could get a word out, I
started crying. In between gasps for air and sobs, I said, "La puerta, mi
mano..." and mimed what had just happened for Rosario. I had the change,
though. That was what mattered right then.
Rosario had to go to work, so we said our goodbyes and I waited for the bus
alone. After what seemed like a long time, it came. I got on and sat down,
heading towards the airport and, hopefully, Philadelphia.
