The Abaceria de San Lorenzo does have some variation in their clientele but to a large extent it tends to be fairly proper, distinguished looking people, and in the middle of the afternoon, of course mostly older men. Due to the former, I was suprised to find a character like Cervantes hanging out there. He told me right off that he was Cuban, but later I found out he was born here in Sevilla, but his grandfather was Cuban, and he goes there a lot. "For the easy women," interjects his friend. Cervantes invited me for a coffee, and I accepted, having just about driven myself crazy that day (friday) with indecision about whether I would jump on a train late in the afternoon and escape Sevilla. (I decided for and against it several times, and even went and sat in the train station for a little bit.) So I was happy to have an interesting person to talk to. Cervantes made it clear he liked me, but was a gentleman, and really a sweetheart. Him and his friend couldn't quit joking around and making the girls at the counter shake their heads and roll their eyes. One of the friends turned out not to be a friend but a random proper neighborhood man, whom Cervantes tried to introduce by saying he was Italian (not at all the case). They went outside to smoke and I felt dumb sitting in there by myself so I said I would leave, and went out the door with them. We kept talking and Cervantes then yelled back through the door to introduce me to Ramón, the owner (we already know each other by sight, to say hello). Ramón told me if Cervantes was being too "pesado" just let him know and he would tell him to get out of the way so I could go home. "Did you understand what he said?" Cervantes wanted to be sure, "he says if I am too pesado to just let him know."

Manolito's wife ran off just before I sat down with them for coffee, but joined us again later, after Cervantes invited me to his house, kitty corner to the Abaceria. I had a brief moment of doubt, thinking what a stupid thing to do, as I walked through the door with two men. I wondered what the very proper Ramon would think, but didn't worry as much as before. Cervantes has travelled a lot. His house is a very small but typical Sevillan courtyard house, and the bottom courtyard is full of awesome and fascinating collected items from all over the world, as well as some family heirlooms, like a beautiful ivory set on his dresser. He turned on ABBA really loud and handed Manolito and I each a set of maraccas. He played a weird tin can with a handle, covered in raised bumps, with a wooden handled thing with small metal rods. Then some Latin stuff came on; some bachaca from Dominican Republic.
Manolito rolled a huge joint from the marijuana Cervantes was practically throwing around. He told me Cervantes' azotea is full of plants. This would be the second time I've met someone, out of a relatively small number of people I've met in Spain so far, that grows it on their rooftop. Spain is completely ideal for that... no need to waste electricity when you have a rooftop with massive amounts of sun all the time. I had my first glimpse of a real marijuana plant, from four little ones they had in pots, in a bag near the door.
At the Abaceria, Cervantes couldn't stop talking or making jokes, and generally saying stuff out of the ordinary, or rocking the boat in a joking way. I don't think he listened to me too well, but words are only part of the story. There are not that many people I feel comfortable enough around to be very expressive. But I grabbed a crazy looking instrument off his wall that had what looked like a bunch of squashed chestnuts all attached on the end of a wound rope, and was pretty much playing whatever he had there in a way that surprised myself. Maybe I am a sucker for men that pay me attention, but what it's really about is that I feel truly comfortable around people when they are crazy - when they let it all out. I've only had a compliment that I considered this great maybe one other time in my life. He said, "if you are not an artist, it's because you don't want to be," and told me I have a great sensitivity or feeling.

Marie Carmen is really pretty, and looks amazing for whatever age she is 50 something. She wasn't too impressed by Cervantes though, and is pretty proper. Despite rolling her eyes and looking annoyed at his comments, she reluctantly shook a wooden thing with tambourine-like metal clackers that Cervantes handed her.

"I don't know when we'll see each other again," he said. I tried to tell him I live nearby and will probably see him in a few days, as I go in to the Abaceria every day and pass his house every day. "He is enamorado," said Manolito as he and Marie Carmen dragged me away.