Lack of money requires inventiveness. Tonight my bad wine has become tinto de verano, Ana style. Squeeze a little orange and lemon wedges into it and add water.

More inventiveness:

Ghetto sink plug. The upside down cup over the drain kept falling over and I needed something heavy to set on top of it. For lack of a stone, I used a honey jar.

Here is my street. I live on the left at the sign for the bar (under us). Still charming compared to Surrey or something. At least outside.

And here is the corner:

And here is the open door on the side, during open hours. "Capirotes a Medida". Pointy hats with holes for the eyes, to measure.

Ghetto rooftop view.

Panorama:

Nothing to do with the ghetto:

An abaceria that I used to go to. It has been closed since August. The sign says, "quesos, chacinas..." other stuff. They sell specialty things, like nice cheese and sausage, canned stuff, wine. They have a tiny shelf with stools, and a bench outside and you can order a beer to hang out there.

Calle Sol:

Walking down my street is an effort in maintaining your Zen state under pressure. Every few moments, another car wants to pass and you have to try to walk on the sidewalk. I get annoyed and think that they should all just be walking! I often make them wait until I get to a wider part. You are always worried about the mirrors hitting you and you have to scrunch yourself against the wall. This is not uncommon on many streets. It has nothing to do with living in a ghetto. The other houses on this street are normal.

The ghetto has to do with the two guys who own the place. One of them that I heard is supposedly in charge of the apartment, is about 50. He lifts weights and wears clothes that show off his muscles. He is a really nice person to talk to but kind of a good for nothing. His mother still does his laundry.

Okay, going to work now. My dinner, huge pot of rice with cabbage, is finishing on the stove. 10:45 and I can expect at least Sherie home at some point. Although she will be going to the Coralon tonight as that is where her studio is. There is apparently going to be a big gathering there. These gatherings she witnesses in the wee hours of the morning are where professionals secretly gather and do the real stuff (flamenco, I mean). She showed me her studio today. It is right across the gravel lot from my garage where I practice. She is a pretty fascinating person. She sketches first in charcoal or something. Then she takes a paintbrush made out of long curly human hair. She turns on music and stands over the paper, which is on the floor, and makes these amazing paintings full of intense movement, with a lot of splattering. She also does normal paintings and is quite skilled, I believe. She is going to have an exhibition here soon, and has clients who pay fairly big money, when they finally decide not to keep her hanging. She is the one who used to be an engineer making lots of money in Silicon Valley.