I was walking on the Avinguda Diagonal, this evening.
Smells of perfume shops oozing out of the malls’ sliding doors, rivers of people running in all possible directions, intersecting on pavements, at traffic lights, by tram stops.
I thought I’d take a detour. I just turned right at the first minor road.
And of course it was a different world. Far from the fashionable, crowded, busy, embellished, I found an uncertain part of the city, doubtful about its vocation, anchored in the past and yet uneasily projected towards its future, caught in the middle of something that could be demolishing, rebuilding, remaking.
Passing in front of a high fence you could catch a glimpse, through the crack between two wooden boards, of a once beautiful woman hanging out clothes in her backyard wearing only a bathrobe. That’s what I thought when I saw, through the net of a building yard…
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