[...] I saw a very pretty, friendly-looking girl approaching from my right. She was carrying some enormous rolls of cardboard under one arm, and perhaps more in her hands. She saw me and smiled, and made a small movement towards me. I felt as if the heavens were opening; a smile like that was exactly what I needed on my solitary walk, and for one crazy, out-of-my-mind moment I was expecting a marvellous proposition (‘Could you hold my breasts while I sort out these rolls of cardboard?’ – to paraphrase Woody Allen), or at least a minimal opening to a friendly chat that would pave the way for a proposition of my own. But in fact, what she said was: ‘Would you like a poster?’ My heart sank; I said no, too quickly, and she bounded over to another guy who was coming up behind me and asked him: ‘Would you like a poster?’ I didn’t hear what he said, and I didn’t care; I was too busy giving myself a few mental kicks on the behind. First of all, I’d missed the opportunity for a brief conversation. ‘A poster of what?’ I could have enquired, which would also have circumvented the curiosity I later felt. I’m still wondering what image or what words that poster had on it. It was huge, made of cardboard that wasn’t very thick, or perhaps a special kind of paper, but whatever it was, it was definitely good quality. I also wonder if she was selling them or giving them away; it seemed more like a gift than a transaction somehow. Maybe the poster was a photo of her. My God, I’m such a joyless idiot. And then I complain about the sterility of my walks. All I was thinking at the time was how uncomfortable it would be to go all the way to the Feria del Libro, and back down 18 de Julio to my apartment, with that enormous roll of cardboard under my arm.