far too much writing, far too many photos

My neighbors, the Godzillas, have not been around much in recent weeks. Which I am taking as something akin to a personal favor from them to me, since when they’re home — as they were this morning — Mrs. G. tends to stomp around the flat like, well, Godzilla on amphetamines. (Hence the nickname.) This morning’s stompfest gradually accelerated, morphing into a stomping frenzy, which finally carried them right out the door into the hallway, where I heard them set their burglar alarm and disappear into the elevator. Away for the weekend, I assume, their usual M.O. Leaving me with peace and quiet that I appreciate like you would not believe.

Meanwhile, local streets have been invaded by accordionists. Which had its charm when they weren’t so ubiquitous. It’s begun reaching the point at certain local plazas and intersections where pedestrians find themselves wandering from one field of vaguely Parisian sound directly into another. Can be a teeny bit unnerving. Thankfully, most of them have avoided flogging the most dog-eared street musician standards –’Those Were The Days’ and ‘My Way’ — a bit of consideration that I appreciate like you would not believe.

However. Entering the Metro yesterday, I heard the faint strains of ‘My Way’ echoing down a hallway, growing louder as I followed the signs for my train. Until I came across the perp, an earnest panflute tooter, playing into a microphone, backed by a lushly orchestrated music + 1 version of the tune that rattled smoothly away on a boombox. All I could do was hurry past and throw myself into the first train that came along, mass transit white-noise wiping away panflute horror, a bit of relief that I appreciated like you would not believe.

Small blessings. They add up.

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Poster legroom — Madrid, Spain:

EspaƱa, te amo

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