When you walk down a familiar street at an unfamiliar hour and the lightstreams flow orange like eels through the infinite columns.
When splashy new streetart wizards its way onto walls.
When a new bar transforms to an old bar, and they greet you with a shout and open arms and Rioja.
When a friend’s face illuminates at the first taste of jamón ibérico de bellota, and you remember yours and you smile big and you experience all over again.
When the cast turns over completely, when the script goes to shit, when you have to start it all over again, when you find yourself on the verge of what appears a terrifying void left by past loves and past support beams, past pyramids you were so proud to have placed together stone by precious weighty stone, feeling safety in stability and the known.
When you realize what plunging ankledeep waistdeep neckdeep into those shifting swirling sands means, that precise instant of cognizance where color shifts a degree this way or that and things start to rotate, buzzing excitedly.
When you’re told tales of your own enthusiasm, when your image is as a crackling electric ouroboros, when production takes a running leap and ends up keeping pace at consumption’s side.
When you give all of it, when you are seeking for the pleasure of seeking, when you spread far and wide, when you keep nothing for yourself.
When your unfurled tendrils meet the nourishment of the city in glorious chlorophyll feast, blossoming million-petaled-beauties everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
Hola, year two. Vámonos.