Saturday, September 17th, 2005. So me.
After nine months I realized today that my selected audience might be under the wrong impression that being a Spaniard, I may sport aging El Zorro looks. The latter is false. Much to my discomfort, I have inserted as a preliminary evidence, a photo of me shot aboard a motor boat on my 1984 visit to Venice. I was heading to the Londra Hotel where I shall return someday. While the clerk tinkered with my passport, I perused through the glass cabinets in the lounge that displayed old music scores. Reading the annotations scrabbled in the margins I understood that Mikhail Tchaikovsky had been a regular guest. I still cannot think of a more fashionable understatement.
Regarding the photo, any acute observer can see that I did not surrender to the staggering 80’s fashion.
Twenty one years have passed. In spite of agitation and disappointments, two essentials remain: Thanks God, I have hair. Thanks God, I have not a paunch.
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