Impulsive Writing (22)

Road To Madrid

“Yes I know Madrid. I know how to pronounce it.”

Sunday, mid-morning, Green Street, Soho, early spring, cold, cloudy, 1994. It had snowed the night before and the sidewalks and streets were awash in six inches of slush. He left the cafe and began to pick his way across the street to his car parked on the other side. He stopped for a moment as a passing cab sped by, splashing him from head to toe with melting snow. Standing there, dripping, he began to realize that the time had come for him to go. He badly needed sun. In that moment, his journey to pronounce Madrid correctly had just begun…

(The other “Madrid.” In New Mexico. A few miles south of Santa Fe.)

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