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Arrival in Alicante

Got there tired, abnormally  tired.  Cold the room, inhospitable...I go downstairs, I wander through the streets.  After two sleepless nights, rest does not come to the preoccupied, buzzing overheated mind.  Eyes tired from night reading do not enjoy looking.  They long to close, to see nothing, to give up.

Arrival at a square.  Its old fashioned look, its date trees, its charm are arresting, relaxing.  On one side, outdoors, an extremely modest restaurant bar.  I walk over to that side of the square and sit down outside in the company of the palm trees.

The waiters don't exactly rush over to take my order.  Fine.  I have time too.  A group of Spaniards appears at the other side of the square.  They came out small, quite small, extraordinarily small.  Hardly a few inches high, I would have said.  Oh, of course I knew they weren't really that small, knew it was impossible for so many reasons that I was too weary to examine but which I was practically certain about.  Yet inexplicably I could not manage to see them any taller.  Besides how is this normally done?  How did I do it before?  I was responsible - obviously- for this defective vision and I couldn't find anything to do about it.  As they entered my ocular chamber, I suppose, I was neglecting to enlarge them, to enlarge them sufficiently or to feel them enlarged.

What if this became permanent?  became an infirmity.  I didn't move.  It was adding to my fatigue.  One more deficiency.  What would they take away from me next?  I remained inert, in no hurry to fund out.