First night in my own bed after six on the island, missing the constant feeling of sand and humidity and a pillow that’s been oversuffed and overfluffed to provide a better view of the 10-inch tv that hung in the far corner of the room. Having a tv in bed always disrupts my dreams, so a (relatively) quiet night in Gràcia allowed my subconscious to take a journey not interrupted by Spanish-dubbed CSI repeats.
Not surprisingly, I found myself walking over the pock-marked, rocky trails that lead to the beaches which separate the lazy tourists from the intrepid blue-water seekers. The rocks are incredibly uncomfortable to walk on with sandals and the smooth patches are convered in a fine dust that I can still feel between my toes right now.
In the middle of this dream path were the walls of two demolished buildings that left something like a rock-strewn vacant lot on an otherwise unspoilt Menorcan coastline. The current heat wave has blocked me from really deep sleep, so I started questioning the logic of brick walls where dunes should be when I started spotting little fragments of wall murals, half-destroyed stencils and wheat pastes covered over by graffiti and immediately reached for my camera and started shooting. I believe this has officially become an obsession.
Barcelona Street Scraps 
The first step to learning a new language is to dream in it!
Very true. I’m finally starting to pay attention to the language of the streets of this city. I’d been so wrapped up in other things that I hadn’t really stopped to look/listen/feel. Some of your entries (doughnut man, the couple fighting) are good examples. I plan to make more time to “listen” to what the streets are saying.