Barceloneta

As the sun set he was awoken by the chill of the evening. He was lying on a park bench. The boys that had been having a kickabout were gone. His girlfriend's i-pod had finished Beachboys and had moved on to Beastie Boys.

He realises his phone's clock is in the wrong time zone, he adjusts it. He shivers down the street and meets a Yorkshire Terrier. It's a yapper. It's yapping at him. He makes his way to a shop but doesn't  go in. There's another Yorkshire Terrier inside the door. What's with all these Yorkies? This one has a good look at him, then gives him that same yap treatment. Barks it's head off, it does. Bark the head off him why don't you lil' doggy. Now, the Yorkshire Terrier, like the Jack Russell, is not the most serene of animals(they do like a yelp) but this much barking and the way it's unmistakeably directed is unusual. Aah, of course they're barking, he looks like he's from the Caledonian Liberation Vanguard, it's because he's wrapped his tartan scarf into a tartan balaclava. He's just trying to keep toasty but to a Yorky he's a Scotch terrorist, their forever sworn enemy.

Not completely deterred, our hero sets off again down the street in search of shelter. He stands in front of a pub window and stares inside, summing up the place and deciding how best to ask for a glass of J&B in Castilian. He has unsettled the bar's patrons. There are two of them and they're sitting up off their stools with faces that ask 'What do you want?', "What are you looking at?". They're as bad as the terriers. So he pulls down his improvised ski-mask before walking in, stutters into "Quiero whiskey Por Favor-Uno". Just for a second he feels like some dirty outlaw in a wild west saloon. She asks if he'd like some ice. He doesn't but he replies "Sí, No", then "Perdon, no..ehh por favor". She gives him a shot glass of whiskey and he pays, stands staring stupidly at the shot glass for 2 minutes, then plucks up the courage to ask for a bigger glass. "Perdon, Lo siento, Quiero una copa más grande" and apologises again, this time for his poor Castilian.

Settling down with his whiskey he begins blogging in the third person.