sevilla begins with a saunter. down crooked streets with maligned intentions. of losing oneself in a city already lost. the guide leads to places blindly. or as if without sight or direction. in sevilla, neither exists. street tangled upon street. where everything looks different and similar. una cana assi y otra cana alli. people take a siesta where others are still sauntering. cana upon cana and then mojito. the night is blurred by the straggle of calles to the left and right. diagonals under the moonlight. spanish practiced. far from perfect. but laughter is universal. arm upon arm. sweated out in bitter oranges. ending in the horizontal positioning of the self on the edge of a bed. it’s the closest position to ideal that will be seen.