"Red skin rubbing in the slow heat, buses making hot wind throw hair caught on a sticky lip moving fast en Español. Black tarmac sighing and swelling with the weight of the feet pressed upon it. Sweaty perfume haze over pavements under buskers drumming heartbeats over empty cups under smoke drifting over a secret cocktail bar under a ceiling of parasols over lipstick sipping rum under mint over ice cubes. Eyes slitted and squinting at the blinding building stone hot to touch even at night when the young spaniards throb through malasaña with their music and their spray paints and their cameras clicking. Sun-dried kisses on either cheek and loudmouth streetcars yelling at the brown limbs melting through the market. The dripping nectarine city sticking to skin, we lie in sol on the grass setting fire to ideas, sweltering, smiling in Spanish."
- Sara Murray