Last night, I was at a flamenco show at the Plaza de las Tendillas, up and leaning off a street lamp for a better view. I was swamped in the culture of the city, the region and the country. I watched two master flamenco dancers blaze through their routines while, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a three year old doing her own, equally intense dance to the music.
I thought of my life back in the states, and it seemed so incredibly small. There are no troubles. Salt dissolving in water, and steam rising, carelessly. I saw through myself, hanging from a lightpost.
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