despedidas

Its three-thirty am on a Friday night. I am sitting alone on the nitbus heading towards the beach. The only thing keeping me awake is a group of Spanish twenty-somethings (am I now considered a twenty-something too? I hope not), they have taken it upon themselves to sing every track from Queen: The Greatest Hits, at an above average volume. One of these girls can actually sing quite well, but, oh no. She's getting carried away and going all Diana Ross at a wedding, fairly sure she's just made a couple of shout-outs in Catalan. She's lost my vote. Wow, look how hairy her arms are. Definitely lost the vote.

It has been a sombre couple of weeks. My friends are all leaving Barcelona, returning home. Serves me right for only befriending erasmus students. Why they aren't staying to enjoy the summer is beyond me, but whatever, they are all going. Which means a mass of leaving-parties, and I must say I am exhausted from what now seems like a nightly activity. I've already lost, Manu, Marco, Matteo, Odile and more. Who will be shedding tonight's tears? Simona.

Simona originates from some village near Roma. She has a good sense of humour and is a lot closer to beautiful than the average girl. You know that kind of pretty girl who never looks good in a photograph? She is that kind of pretty girl. Like most, she has her defects; she thinks she needs to lose weight and she dances like a chicken. She has a couple more defects, but I'm beginning to feel a bit mean so I guess I'll leave it at that. I can't remember what she is studying, but she said she wants to be a teacher, which sounds like a decent choice, shaping the future and what not. This is probably the last time I will ever see Simona. Shes been a good friend for the best part of six months, but this is probably the end of that. Out of all my friends who are leaving or have left, beyond the realms of facebook, I will probably only stay in touch with a handful. However you look at it, it is undeniably sad.

Anyhow, I eventually arrive at the beach around four am-ish. We sit on the beach with a mass of other familiar faces, far too many familiar faces to be bothered going around and saying hello to everyone, if they want to chat they are more than welcome to come on over to me. A few do, a few don't. No love lost.
A Portuguese guy sees fit to take all his clothes off (not for the first time might I add) and borrow a girl's dress. Once he is wearing the dress, he poses for photographs. He begins prancing around and purposely lifting the dress to reveal his penis lost in a mound of hair, once again for photographs. This guy is actually rather nice though, I've spoken to him a few times when he has had his clothes on and he is interesting conversation.
I neck a bottle of wine, in what I should consider a worrying amount of time, and we all sit watching the sunrise over the sea. A few couples disappear beyond the rocks for some shagging or just uncomfortable foreplay, I just sit and wonder what I am going to do next. What am I going to do next?