I will first describe what caused an impression yesterday, then I will describe what was actually important.
I was hanging out with my friends at the park yesterday. We were entertaining ourselves observing a man who was obviously wanting to steal, and was very likely on drugs. He was very unskilled or unaware, getting caught and then acting coy. My friend assured me this man would be the one who stole my backpack with my phone in it. "He's been here all summer, he just passes by picking up purses and backpacks, takes out what's valuable and throws out what's not".
A pair of hours later we saw an undercover cop detain him, then a second cop came and they were doing some kind of paper work with him present. We were about to leave but my friend said "go take a closer look at him, at least you will feel pleasure to see the person who stole your shit detained". I knew I wouldn't feel pleasure, but I wanted to see his face. And I wanted him to see my face.
I passed by and looked at him intently. Our eyes met and I saw fear, but he didn't look away. "It was him!" I thought, "I can see it in his eyes". I approached them and said to the man: I think I saw you take my backpack with my iPhone 15 Pro inside on Friday. He became agitated. The cops told me this man had 59 reports of theft.
One of the cops pulled me away to speak in private. I told him I couldn't assure it was him. The cop told me it was probably him, he's well known to the police, a prolific thief at the park. I told him my friend— who hangs out at the park all the time—thought the same. I had already filed a police report, it was just a matter of some paperwork to link him to my stolen backpack. On the background I could hear the man arguing that he was just being inculpated, that he didn't steal from me. The policeman was very keen on having me declare against this man.
I initially said I would declare, but as the cop brought me some papers to sign I felt I would be doing wrong. How strange, the gut telling you this is the guy who stole from you, and then telling you not to sign the papers because it's wrong. In hindsight, I mistook his expression of fear for culpability. It's likely that—even if he stole from me—he wouldn't remember me, and his expression of fear would have come from fearing his own culpability.
I told the policeman "I'm sorry I can't sign those papers, I didn't see the person who took my belongings, even though I think it's him". I then approached the thief and told him: "I hang out at the park often and we've seen you stealing. Somebody took my backpack on Friday, I can't say it was you because I didn't see who did it, but I think it was you". He replied "There's more people who steal at the park, not only me". I answered "We've seen you all summer stealing, everybody knows you. It's only natural that I think it's you. But I can't prove it. Get the fuck out of the park and if I see you here again I will contact these gentlemen to report that it was you who stole my backpack, and I mean it. Get the fuck out of the park". The policeman told the guy "you are lucky this man is honest, otherwise you would be under arrest right now".
I left a little bit shaken, but I knew I had done the best I could given the circumstances. I went back to my friend who insisted this was the guy who stole from me. "We can't be 100% sure, as long as there's doubt I can't declare against him". My friend went on "these guys are like zombies, they're just looking to steal to buy drugs". If that's the case, then indeed he's a menace to society and he should not be on the streets. I told my friend to message me if he saw the thief the next day at the park. I would stick to my word and get him locked up even if I had to lie, it was the best thing for him and for "us".
Yesterday I went to say goodbye to my friends at the park. I was also saying goodbye to my friend weed, though that part was not explicit. I told them I would be leaving tomorrow, when in reality I'll be leaving in a couple of days. But I wanted to quit smoking already, I'll probably attend a AA meeting today.
I said goodbye to Mamadou, a man from Mali who works setting up stages for concerts. His goodness reminded me of John Coffey in The Green Mile. He was wise too. One time a very talented beatboxer came to us under the pretense of getting a rolling paper. He was drunk and it was obvious he was entertaining us to get free beer, which we gladly provided. Mamadou had to leave, and he told the guy "Thank you for entertaining us. You are obviously very talented, you should be on TV. I hope that you realize this, you should be giving concerts but thank you for playing for us. We had a great time". I thought it was the best way anybody could express both appreciation and concern at the same time.
I said goodbye to "the clown", a handsome Catalonian man in his thirties who is wasting his life on drugs. He puts on a red nose and dances to techno music while awkwardly swinging a ball from a cord on each hand, with a cup in front of him though he seldom gets any coins. He carries a black notebook where he draws faces of clowns, he said to me "though each day I seem to draw worse and worse", and he showed me a drawing which was an unintelligible scribble. I see myself in him, I would probably be like him if I were truly a drug addict.
I missed the Dutch guys. They work giving chat support at an online casino. They work the late night shift so they have all day to hang out at the park and smoke weed. Robert is perpetually drinking beer lying on his hammock, Rizz likes playing on the slack line. They dislike people, but they were also nice to them. They seemed to like me and were vocal about it, but in the back of my mind I would wonder if they were just being nice to me.
Then there's Rasmus, the Danish guy who works doing content moderation for TikTok. He's the guy with whom I was watching the thief. I bonded with him quickly, finding his vibe pleasant. He assured to me that an I'm an autist, he is one himself and claims not to vibe with neurotypical people. He's very much into nature and yesterday we played an interesting game: we would each feed a separate group of pigeons. From each group, a dominant pigeon would arise. We would hand feed that pigeon and make it our champion. Then we would bring both groups together and our champions would fight over the peanuts.
It didn't quite go as expected. His champion was way bigger and more aggressive than any other pigeon in the total population, and when I brought my champion to his, my champion quickly scurried away and observed the feeding from a distance. Rasmus' pigeon would puff up and chase away other pigeons, hogging all the peanuts. Rasmus would feed it from his hand and the pigeon would peck him hard, "I've created a monster" he said.
I invited Rasmus to Mexico whenever he wanted to come. He demurred saying it's complicated etc. I said my invitation had no expiry date, I would always have a home in Puebla so that option would always be open. "Come visit when you're 70 years old if you want", he said he didn't expect to live that long. But with that open timeframe he seemed less resistant to the idea, and this morning he texted me saying thank you, I might take your word on it someday.
These are the friends I made in Barcelona. I sometimes wondered why didn't I hang out with the people who seemed to be more like my crowd: the fit guys and girls who practiced acroyoga and handstands in a corner of the park. I looked at them longing to join them, not knowing how to approach. With the stoners it was simply a matter of asking for a puff.
There's a challenge here which I would like to address once I settle down again.