The Desperate Artist at the Bullfights

There were plenty of things to do that Sunday, as there are most Sundays.  Buy I was beginning to get caught behind on all the sights and sites.   After all, why should it be called sightseeing when what you are looking at are sites and not really sights?  This would be a question I would pose to my co-workers after work, but first with the aid of a few drinks.  English teachers don’t really have a lot to say; they just talk about their students and their jobs and grammar and accents.  It’s what they do best, which makes it no wonder they drink as much as they do. 

       I planned on returning to the neighborhoods and slashing away at the streets and the sights or sites and the buildings.  There are so many interesting buildings in this city.  And to think how little we stop to gaze at them.  I was worse at talking about buildings than talking about museums, so I had to abandon that idea until future notice. 

       That was when my friend Andrés, my friend who almost perished on the Camino de Santiago or the Santiago de Camino as it were, who called me and told me about the bullfight, to which I said yes enthusiastically because I hadn’t seen six innocent animals stabbed to death at all this year and I was feeling in the mood for a little. 

       In the mood for a little.  Scott was going to come along too, but he had already made plans and got mad at me for not telling him before because he liked going to the toros and didn’t want to miss out.  The Las Ventas Bullring, by far the most important and influential bullfighting venue in the world, held Sunday novilladas during the month of July.  Novillos are smaller bulls, but they can still weigh in at a respectable 1,200lbs.  This was no kiddy show, I can assure you.

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