From last night: I was out running and arrived at a familiar intersection of roads on the north side of Montjuïc (the closest RL equivalent being the intersection of Avinguda de Miramar and Carretera de Montjuïc) on a sunny late afternoon. The Avinguda ran east-west, nearly flat at that point, while the Carretera was a reverse left off it going further up the hill, as IRL. There was another intersection of a lower road coming up to the Avinguda just a little further back to the east (this, I believe, corresponded to the RL Passeig de Santa Madrona, which IRL is well past the Carretera to the west; but Montjuïc’s road network is squirrelly and hard to build a mental map of, so no wonder my brain was confused). On the north (downhill) side was a break in the trees yielding a far view, and the sun was just shining in from its north-northwest azimuth. I put the stereo I was carrying off the south (uphill) side of the Avinguda, nestled on the ground above the low retaining wall, and played a Black Flag song, something like “Thirsty and Miserable,” but probably just a made-up hybrid of their RL songs. I ran up and down from the further-back intersection to the Carretera and back, then crossed over the funicular tracks running alongside the Avinguda on its north side. The tracks were separated from the Avinguda by a loose-stone-covered area a few feet wide, and in the midst of this buffer stood a metal pole, which I’d hung my backpack on and placed some books near (Italian language reference books, I think). I wanted to retrieve the pack and books but decided not to just yet, as the funicular would be arriving presently and I wanted to stay off the tracks. So I climbed back up to the Avinguda, going through the gate in the low chain-link fence that demarcated the stony buffer from the road. By that point the sun had set, but there was still bright western daylight coming in from the view. The funicular arrived with startling speed, moving very smoothly and seeming to stop from full speed in just a fraction of a second (the intersection was a stop on the line), so that I was very glad I had gotten off the tracks when I did. The conductor disembarked and began to strap my backpack and books onto the top of the train (which had become miniature in height, it seemed, only about as tall as a kitchen counter), thinking that they had been lost. I told him in rudimentary Italian (since apparently this was an Italophone region) that they were mine and I would hang onto them; somehow it became apparent that his native language was German, so after a while we conversed in German. By that time it was nearly dusk.

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