recappage

Fuck

I wrote a ton of stuff 2 weeks ago, saved it, left it as I thought it should be, and went on vacation. After returning from the wonderful voyage across northern spain, continuing into Holland, and finding myself sunburnt after a final day skiing in the pyranees, I documented all of it.

A swift sabotage, planned by the crafty ACER, made swift work of my journaling.

This is version 1.1

 A fresh view from an elevated, more centrally located masterpiece of a flat (minus a foul stench drifting from the sink), is now my point of view. The air breaths  an energy that fuels the streets until the wee hours of the morning, with ALL of the cars in Logroño instead of none, and amazing old spanish neighbors that have the television as their favorite company and leave it on the most atrocious of all stations all night long at full volume so they can sleep. I swear to baby jesus that when I wake up in the middle of the night, I have traveled back into the 1940's, Germany is bombing all of Europe, and the neighbors have their old-fashioned, high-treble radio, tuned to Nazi propaganda, through their television. I would ask he/she to turn it down, but I am waiting until after an inauguración fiesta that my roomates and I plan to throw this weekend. Outside of the pedestrian streets I once walked through, I'm greeted by gypsy pan-handlers and strung-out prostitutes, the oldest bar in Logroño, and a police station located next to a hospital. This outdoes the day-cares which bred screaming children and phony parents, all of which who flocked to the delicious tortilla bar below.