I say goodbye to the year with deep satisfaction: my presidential term in the community of neighbors ends. A turbulent year. The elevator has broken down, in front of the building there is a voyeur who records at night - with that I could not do anything, the option of an economic hitman was rejected - and we started January with one robbery – at my house, the presidential seat – and we ended the year with another.
Saturday the bell rang at seven in the afternoon. Laura Dern dressed as a lawyer passing through Barcelona (one of my nonsense for 2024)? I open and see two Mossos kneeling, watching the bottom of the door, as if they are looking at Conca but not: they are making inquiries. I saved myself from the robbery by sleeping at home every night, unlike the victims (an Anglo-Argentinian couple with two children). They all take for granted that the authorship corresponds to a foreign band.
And speaking of Camus. She gives them to the elderly in the neighborhood to walk with Latina caregivers. The print is tender, but it makes me sad: I can't imagine Laura Dern in this role, things being what they are.
Saturday night, boxing. Three of the four amateur bouts are won by Moroccans. Not since Ben Ali, the Rooster of Melilla, had I seen so many Maghrebs established in Catalonia box well. If there is a noble sport and a "culture of effort" it is sixteen ropes.
On Sunday the 31st, shortly before dinner, I realize that Vichy is missing. I can't imagine a New Year's Eve without Vichy, that drink that everyone despises before dinner and that everyone recommends afterwards. I cross the street and, as usual, the shopkeeper from Pakistan – at first pretending to be Indian – is there, glued to his mobile phone, from which come some voices from a film in which a guy with a mustache ties up an orphan of charity for matrimonial purposes.
Nor watch me: there is trust. In the end, the "friend" thing will be true, the treatment that the itinerant flower sellers also give me, capable of placing a rose for me even if I have dinner with my son.
Although some steal and a few rob, without immigrants this Spain would be something else, more drowsy. I am one of those who sign the deal.
