Entered the train in the company of a lovely little lady who needed some help getting up. She was visiting someone on the same road that my church is on. She even knew there was an English church there. She remembered the names of all the streets. Talked about rivers in India and the details of Africa and China. She knew every street in El Escorial, the hotels, the views. Out of curiosity I asked for her age… in soft secretive hush, she whispered. 98. I’ll be 99 in Oct. The joy of being independent and sharp at that age. Wow. Much power to her elbow.
So many beautiful young men in the metro today. Impeccably dressed. Gorgeously groomed. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks thinking: Men have finally moved away from Dad-bods. Then I remembered it’s Pride weekend.
A little child speaking to his mum through the little yellow triangle formed by the seat dividers. Such an innocent, beautiful sight to see.
Found a restaurant that served food from all over the African continent. Whoo hoo. New haunt.
Walking around Madrid. This city has some beautiful secrets.