The man by the fountain is crying.
Everyone pretends not to notice, burying heads in newspapers or studying phones intently.
The tears become sobs, and less steely individuals glance at their watches, staging elaborately shocked surprise before hurrying away.
The sobs turn into painful howls of despair, which sees off most of those left, and I begin to wonder whether to leave myself.
Those few remaining pre-empt me. And now it would look bad if I left too.
“Can I help?” I say awkwardly.
“Just leave me alone,” he cries.
So I go, relieved to have tried.
And been rebuffed.
Nice to see some sun here in Spain, though there are some clouds on the horizon as corona virus sweeps through this country as quickly as the rest of the continent. 😦 Hoping to be back home this time next week, all in one piece. Thanks to Rochelle for leading the Friday Fictioneers out once again.