The Bodega Argentino 1995

The owner wouldn´t let me take her photo.

Tall, imposing, blonde. I should have realized the headscarf she had
taken to wearing meant cancer and she died some months after. The
bodega has been closed since then.

These wonderful places, with the rich, sour smell of wines and sherry and sweet moscatel, where you went to buy wine on tap from the barrels that line the walls, are disappearing in post Olympic Barcelona. The city is bent on projecting itself into some strange, cold, post-modern future.

There is no room for the small, old, working class things.

They prefer Starbucks.