The info shop opened at 4 not 3 and only on Wednesdays/ Fridays.
Luckily this day was a Friday.
To kill an extra hour and a half, Tak took them down a few streets he knew, past a low key gallery with Klee-copy electric fish drawings in the window, some kebab shops, some old school garages, ignoring all of them, even the Museum of Modern Art, which Joanna and Sila actually wanted to go inside, but Tak said no, it’s all shit, made by posh people, the info shop’s better, and besides, he was feeling hungry and the woman he’d just asked said there was a Burger King two minutes down the street.
‘Ah, Spanish food,’ said Sila, blunting the sarcasm with a half-smile…then scratching it when he remembered the last time he’d gone into a Burger King.
‘Mate, it’s in Spain, it’s food. What’s the puzzle?’
‘It’s American. Manufactured.’
‘Nothing. Just…you speak Spanish and Slovene, and you still want to eat at Burger King. In Barcelona.’
‘This is where real Spanish people go, not Javier Bardem or Almodóvar.’
‘What’s my language skill got to do with it anyway? Most multilingual people I know are working class or lower middle, Indians, Chinese, Filipinos, they speak loads of languages.’
‘I was joking.’
‘Whereas westerners just lie about speaking them. Like those fucking polyglots online.’
‘Nah, fuck, retract that one. It’s too annoying’ He nudged Joanna in the shoulder, not too hard. ‘What do you think? Burger King or not?’
Based on her Sokurov-void reaction, it didn’t seem like she thought anything, except perhaps how to maintain the trance she was embedded in, the same trance that had been hanging over her since they’d disembarked, accentuated by weirdly lethargic limb movements.
‘She on?’Continue reading