In the rare moments when we are not in motion, perhaps on the train, or finally in bed at 3:30AM, C says to me ¨So. Which do you like better?" Sometimes I say Barcelona, after a walk down one of its incredibly gracious boulevards or an afternoon on the shore and back through the sinister but promising Barceloneta neighborhood where the men sing while they walk, or while being groped by a handsome young lurker in the uppermost woods of the Parc Gruell near some Roman ruins. Sometimes I say Madrid, where the short dark Spaniards glow under the benevolent light of the back room of the Eagle, and make us think of how much the Chueca has the energy of the Village in Montreal during its emergent years. Full of hot young men wanting sex at all hours. Usually, I structure a compromise. In a perfect world, we´d have an art nouveau apartment in Barcelona with frequent jaunts to Madrid for respites from the graciousness. C reminds me of all the antennae we saw in Barcelona. Cable is not an assumption there. Wouldn´t I miss my HBO? Just a little.