Any morning in the city
I walk down the stairs of the house, a feeling of nervousness runs through me. With my hair still wet and collected, I feel the freshness of the air on my face. As I walk, I zip up my jacket, trying to protect myself from the cold stinging my nose. Carrer Avinyó, in its silence, seems to be a reflection of my restlessness.
A brief encounter with reality
I turn the corner and see a woman cleaning the sidewalk in front of a luggage store, her nurse clogs too big for her. I arrive at the end of Calle Ferran, where my steps echo in an almost desolate atmosphere. A garbage truck moves slowly along a Rambla that awaits the day with an air of desolation. The image of the Liceu is presented before me, imposing and majestic.
Monica del Raval
Suddenly, my eyes settle on a familiar figure. Mònica, a woman I have passed several times, greets me with a cordial ‘Buenos días, niñita’. Her image is unmistakable: dressed in a black jacket that imitates the skin of a mink, a red swimsuit that defies convention and a short skirt that exposes her legs.
An unforgettable portrait
His figure, marked by the tears of time, worries me. With missing teeth and a cigarette in hand, he approaches with a ‘¿Estás bien?’ I barely allow myself a gesture of goodbye, with a dry mouth and a pounding heart. I walk towards the subway, where anxiety surrounds me. The solitude of the platform makes me reflect on life in the neighborhood.
Remembering the past
The first time I saw Monica, I didn’t know who she was. In the town, his presence would have been unthinkable. His routine consisted of waiting for customers in front of the Liceu, with an attitude that combined calm and urgency. His gestures, full of charisma, were a reflection of a life lived beyond expectations.
A singular character
Over time, I realized that Monica was not like the others. Her make-up, with a black streak that accentuated her blue eyes, was a sign of identity. She wore a plastic crown that, despite its simplicity, awakened in me an unexpected tenderness.
Reflections on time
The years have passed, and now I live in Carrer de la Riereta, surrounded by neighbors of various origins. Mònica has disappeared from my life, but the memory of those meetings leaves me with a bittersweet taste. Thinking about shared moments, like a conversation and a melted chocolate with churros, is a desire that makes me dream.
