About tramps, two stories.

It's not unusual here for homeless people in winter to take refuge and spend the night at one or another of the roomy, covered, weather-isolated sundry downtown cash dispensers. They get there and spread their rugs and blankets all over the place, making themselves at ease, frightening away with their mere presence any unsuspected bank client who happens to get there.

In my way back home from work I usually go past one of the tramps' favourites spots, that of La Caixa. I was in the point of hardly noticing them anymore when one evening I had to step back to check whether what my side vision had perceived was true or not... and to my amused commotion, I found out my senses hadn't betrayed me —there he was, the guy, comfortably lying over his cardboards, cushioned in blankets and reclined upon the wall, while having an obvious agreeable conversation... through his mobile phone!

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One gets so used to the humble, low-headed, sometimes mutilated, politically correct beggar you invariably find at the gates or the stairs of every Catholic church in town that when you find one, as I did yesterday, who specifically asked for two euros, and when ignored retorted not loudly but perfectly audible, 'i si no que te fotin pes cul', cannot avoid feeling quite an appreciation for him...