#CoVId-19 Madrid

[catarsissegovia]

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

ByCarly Cassella

Fatigue is one of the most frequent and debilitating symptoms of long COVID, and yet it is also one of the hardest to measure objectively.

A new study suggests the extreme mental and physical fatigue experienced by many long COVID patients is, in fact, observable in the central nervous system.

Scanning the brains of 127 long COVID patients, scientists found some parts of the brain were communicating with others in a slightly altered way.

These regions include the frontal lobe, the temporal lobe, and the cerebellum, and while it's not clear how long the changes might last, the pattern could be used to identify those battling ongoing fatigue.

"These findings suggest a role of central nervous system involvement in the pathophysiology of fatigue in post-COVID syndrome," write researchers at the Complutense University of Madrid in Spain.

"The existence of several brain characteristics associated with fatigue severity detected by magnetic resonance imaging could constitute a neuroimaging biomarker to objectively evaluate this symptom in clinical trials."

The frontal lobe is the part of the brain associated with higher executive functions, like planning, reasoning, and problem solving. Meanwhile, the temporal lobe is associated with memory and processing, and the cerebellum is linked to movement, posture, and balance.

All three areas have previously shown changes in connectivity among patients with chronic fatigue syndrome or myalgic encephalomyelitis (CFS/ME).

CFS/ME comes with many of the same symptoms as long COVID; however, it remains unclear how the two illnesses relate.

Recent findings suggest brain changes associated with long COVID mirror those of CFS/ME, but further research using larger and more diverse sample sizes is needed.

The new study on long COVID, led by neuropsychologist Maria Diez-Cirarda, does not consider CFS/ME, but it analyzes the brain scans of 127 people who had contracted SARS-CoV-2 at least three months before. Around 74 percent of participants were female, and most had only been sick with COVID-19 once.

Roughly 87 percent reported symptoms of global fatigue, including physical or mental fatigue, and 86 percent said they were suffering from cognitive complaints, like memory, attention, or processing issues.

Ultimately, those with global fatigue, physical fatigue, or cognitive complaints showed reduced connectivity between the frontal and occipital brain regions. They also showed increased connectivity between the cerebellar and temporal areas.

Mental fatigue, however, stood out. It was associated with distinct changes in the left prefrontal areas, the anterior cingulate, and the left insula – the central hubs of a known mental fatigue network.

Changes to white matter were also found in the brains of long COVID patients with lingering fatigue. White matter contains the nerve fibers that connect neurons, and these are covered in white sheaths, which protect and allow messages to be sent faster.

In long COVID patients, the recent study suggests that physical and mental fatigue is "partly related to several microstructural changes, including demyelination."

Demyelination is when the insulating sheath that protects neurons and transmits electrical signals is damaged, resulting in reduced functionality, such as muscle weakness, blurry vision, or slurred speech.

Interestingly, the current brain study found no changes in gray matter, which contains the bodies of neurons. Previous studies have shown reduced gray matter in COVID patients, but this shrinkage was recorded during or shortly after an infection, and it may not last over the longer term.

Given how malleable the brain can be, it's important that future studies investigate the changes of long COVID over greater lengths of time. Further research could also investigate how fatigue due to long COVID compares to other conditions, like ME/CFS or multiple sclerosis.

"The involvement of the central nervous system in the pathophysiology of fatigue in post-COVID syndrome paves the way for the use of non-invasive brain stimulation techniques to alleviate fatigue in these patients," the researchers conclude.

The study was published in Psychiatry Research.

Study Link: www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0165178124003986?via%3Dihub

[whilereadingandwalking]

In March 2020, I left Spain in a state of panic and tears. Covid-19 was a global emergency, but I had to snake maskless through crowds of hundred panicked tourists, shove myself into airplane seats, overuse my hand sanitizer, stand in endless Madrid & London airport lines, overhear racist remarks and people coughing into the air, for 36 hours straight. I got home sure I had Covid, cycling between a selfish sadness of my dream trip being canceled and overwhelming, isolated panic.

I recognize 2020 me, but 2024 me is utterly changed. From the little things (playing Animal Crossing with my sister with 900 miles between us, a Studio Ghibli movie marathon, the little neurotransmitters that make my nerves act wrong) to the big (watching my friends birth entire humans, seeing loved ones almost die, losing my job), I am new. I’m grown up now. I was 25 in Spain, now I’m 30.

Tomorrow, I’m going to step off my airplane, and I will be in Seville. Where I left off. The pandemic isn’t over, but it does feel like things have come full-circle. My family and I will go to Granada after that, and then I’ll go to Madrid. The dream cut short in 2020 will be completed, by a much different me. If I could see that me—maybe as I step off, she’ll be stepping on, in that same pocket of space—I would tell her that it will all be too much. But that she is going to find so much confidence and conviction in herself, up ahead. That she will survive it. That amidst all the pain, she’ll have so, so many adventures.

And I’d promise her: You will be back.

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 20)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,880

Summary: An invitation takes Horacio and Javier back to Medellín, a city that has changed as much as they have since they were last in it. Amongst the celebrations, can they find a way to reconcile the old with the new?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut, religious themes, discussions of canon-typical violence and past trauma, grief, healing, allusions to period-typical prejudices, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: So, this chapter took on a life of its own and ended up a lot bigger than it was originally supposed to be, oops lol. The initial idea was for this and chapter 21 to be chapter 20, but, as you can see, it didn't quite work out like that 😂

The majority of chapter 21 is done, I just need to finish it off but life (and covid...again) have been getting in the way lately.

After that, I just have chapter 22 and a short epilogue to do, then fin. So, I promise we are very nearly there now! Ideally, I'd like it all done by the end of autumn, but that might not be possible...let's see how it goes.

Thank you once again to anyone still reading and waiting for updates, your patience is greatly appreciated (as always, please feel free to drop me a line if you’d like to, I love hearing from you!)❤️

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's quite a few new points for this one, as I ended up doing a lot of research lol).

Chapter 20: Something Old, Something New

Dappled light filtered through the Venetian blinds, splintering across the polished wooden furnishings and along the plush carpeted floor, bathing the hotel room in tints of gold. No traces remained of yesterday’s rain after a warm start to the morning, and the forecast miraculously looked promising for the hours ahead.

Horacio stood facing a floor-length mirror, his fingers wrestling with his jacket and a Cattleya orchid buttonhole until he tutted and gave up. It was the final addition to his outfit: a three-piece mid-grey suit, a pale olive green dress shirt, a bottle green tie and dark brown shoes.

“Come here.” Javier abandoned fastening his burgundy tie, letting it hang untied and loose around his neck. Instead, he took the buttonhole from Horacio and delicately pinned the flower on his left lapel. It matched the one already placed on his navy blue three-piece, which he had teamed with a rose-pink dress shirt and black shoes.

“Thanks. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn one of these. I’m out of practice.” The last wedding Horacio attended had been a friend of Juliana’s, and for some reason, attaching a flower to his jacket was trickier than his CNP lapel pins.

“At least the last time wasn’t your own wedding…which you never actually made it to.”

“Fair point.”

Javier smoothed down Horacio’s lapels, slow caresses on either side, chestnut lost in charcoal as he took all of him in. “Beautiful.”

“Likewise.” Horacio’s fingers slid up to Javier’s tie and worked their magic, managing a knot neater than Javier could ever make. He positioned and repositioned it at the collar until it was symmetrical.

“Satisfied?”

“Hmm, not quite.” He took hold of the length of the tie, pulling Javier down a couple of inches to his height, fresh mint and aftershave hitting their senses as they settled into it, careful not to squash the flowers at their breast.

Javier breathed hard against Horacio’s mouth. “I take it we haven’t got time for—”

“Absolutely not.” Although Horacio was panting as he re-straightened Javier’s tie, the sight of each other in formal wear a distracting novelty. “We’re meeting Steve downstairs in 5 minutes.”

“Shame. I miss Madrid already.”

“Our bed will still be there when we get back.”

“Who said anything about a bed?”

“Come on, we can’t be late,” Horacio reiterated with great reluctance, avoiding the look he knew Javier was giving him. “You ready?”

Javier took a deep breath and picked up the invitation from the nearby nightstand, his eyes scanning over the details one last time.

Juana Marisol Vargas Restrepo

Y

Felipe Gabriel Trujillo Rojas

Con la bendición de sus familias, te invitan a celebrar su boda

(With the blessing of their families, they invite you to celebrate their wedding)

El sábado, 21 de enero de 1995

(Saturday 21st January, 1995)

A las tres de la tarde

(At 3 in the afternoon)

Iglesia del Señor de las Misericordias, Manrique

(Church of the Lord of the Mercies, Manrique)

Recepción a seguir en el Jardín Botánico de Medellín

(Reception to follow at the Botanical Garden of Medellín)

“I think so. Of all the churches in Medellín, though.”

Horacio let out a wry huff to match Javier’s. “I know. The bride’s choice, apparently. Plus, it’s close by for the reception.”

Javier hummed, his eyes still glued to the invitation as if the antidote to the discomfort simmering in the pit of his stomach was hidden between the lines.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. It was always gonna be like this. Wasn’t it? Being back here.”

“I don’t think there’s a way around it. But at least it’s a celebration this time.” Horacio placed a gentle kiss on Javier’s forehead. “And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

------------------------------------------------------

After locating Steve, they shared a taxi to the church, where they met Connie and Olivia on account of Olivia being in a particularly fussy mood.

“I think it’s the travelling and being out of routine. She was up early this morning. So, of course, she’s tired now.” Connie gestured towards Olivia, fast asleep in her dad’s arms, before hugging Javier and Horacio.

“You look stunning, love the dress,” Javier said, noticing he owned a shirt in the same shade of turquoise.

“Aw thank you, you all look so handsome!” Connie stood back to admire them then leaned in to kiss Steve. “And not hungover?” she added with a raised brow, rubbing away the smudge of lipstick left behind on his cheek. “I take it I need to thank Horacio again for keeping you in one piece?”

It took Horacio a second to get what Connie was referring to. But then he remembered a paralytic pair of DEA agents slumped in the back of his car, alongside practically carrying Javier to his bedroom, removing his outer layers and plying him with water, then lying him on his side with a pillow behind his back.

Horacio had been heading for the door when a slurred noise over his shoulder stopped him. One that sounded suspiciously like “Stay.” He couldn’t prove it or ask for clarification. But nor could he leave. So, he stayed until he was reassured Javier was safe and sleeping soundly. Then he tiptoed home, relieved the next day to find Javier had no recollection of any of it.

“I don’t know about that,” Horacio said in the here and now. “We were all on our best behaviour for today.”

“Yeah, Murphy needs his beauty sleep these days. Isn’t that right?” Javier threw a wink in Steve’s direction and wondered if Connie’s choice of words meant what he thought they did.

“Well, some of us actually have to go to work, Peña,” Steve shot back with a self-satisfied curl of the lips.

Connie playfully slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous.”

“Can’t even deny it.”

------------------------------------------------------

Guests began to file up the stone steps into the church, the Murphys following once they had roused Olivia awake, with Javier and Horacio hanging back at the top of the stairs.

Their arms rested over the balcony wall as they surveyed the road beneath. There was no CNP vehicle parked up this time, but instead, a hive of activity with guests being dropped off and a space reserved for the bride’s imminent arrival.

“It feels like a fucking lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“It was.”

“I, er, never saw her again. Helena, I mean. I secured her a visa – figured it was the least I could do after everything. But she took her kid and ran before I could give it to her. Her neighbour said she was staying with her sister in Peru, but…who knows?”

Javier wasn’t sure if she even had a sister, but he always hoped it was the truth. He always hoped she and her family were safe and that she found the strength to put what happened behind her. But of course, he had no fucking clue if these were comforting lies he’d told himself over the years. It wasn’t love, whatever they had. Far from it. He knew that back then let alone now. But for a short while, they cared in their own way, and as much as their circumstances and jobs allowed them to.

“Probably for the best. It wouldn’t have been safe here.”

“No, I made sure of that.” Javier’s hand dug harshly into the jagged stone, leaving dents in his skin until the subtle and discreet touch of a finger made contact with his own, pulling him out of his spiralling self-flagellation. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t plan on bringing all this up. Especially not today.”

“It’s okay. And it’s not like we ever really talked about it at the time.”

It had been a sore point for Horacio, not that he understood why back then. Of course, he knew Helena wasn’t the first or the last, but he could see whatever they had, however short-lived, went beyond the mere transactional. He’d never seen Javier so worried for an informant, and as it turned out, he had every reason to be. Then, she stopped being a threat and became yet another victim.

“Funnily enough, no. You just took it out on Steve instead.”

A knowing look eased the tension in an instant.

“Could you blame me?”

“Absolutely not. Especially when he was encroaching on your territory.”

Javier couldn’t resist a wink, which caused a muttered “Fuck you” followed by their shoulders shaking in unison.

Once calm was restored, Horacio turned to face the church, the wall bearing the brunt of his weight. “Looking back now, though, I don’t think I should’ve been so surprised by what you did for me in Cartagena and Tolú.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I did the same for you that night here in Medellín.”

Javier joined Horacio; both now stood side by side, their gaze meeting in an acknowledgement of the rich history that existed between them that no words could ever fully convey.

And with the scattered remnants of their past now confined to distant memories they could at last put behind them, they made their way into the church. 

------------------------------------------------------

A waterfall of roses, carnations and orchids tied together with matching ribbons cascaded a rainbow of purple, yellow and white down the rows of pews. The flowers were supplied by the mother of the groom, who conveniently was a florist by profession. Every August, Medellín burst into bloom for Feria de las Flores, so if anyone was going to be in charge of the arrangements, it was her.

Candles lit a path from the aisle to the altar, reminding Horacio not only of Día de las Velitas but of his and Javier’s recreation of the festival during their first Christmas in Laredo. He was about to take a seat when he caught a flash of green dress uniform in the wings of the church and a pair of dark eyes picking him out of the congregation.

He excused himself to the sacristy at the side of the altar.

Trujillo peered out to the pews as his hands alternated between fidgeting with the knot of his tie and his cufflinks. “Is she here yet?”

“Not yet.” Horacio straightened Trujillo’s tie knot. “But it’s still early.”

“Yeah.” Trujillo nodded and took a deep breath.

“She’ll be here before you know it. So relax. I think we’ve been through worse.” Horacio’s lips stayed neutral for an impressively long spell until he caved.

“My hand was steady as a rock on that rooftop. But today?” Trujillo held out his hand to show the hint of a tremor.

“You ended something once and for all on that rooftop. Something that needed ending…for your father, Alfredo and Sebastián. For you. For Colombia. But today is the start of your future.”

“I always thought they would have been here for this one day. So, thank you. For being here instead. For coming back...after everything. For all those early morning drills and target practice. And for the free drinks.”

They laughed at the fact Horacio was a man of his word and hadn’t let Trujillo buy a single drink since arriving here.

“It’s the least I could do. And if you ever need anything, Felipe, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Likewise…Horacio. That goes for Javier, too.”

Their silence was an acknowledgement that they had just shared an ending and a beginning of their own, no longer comrades in arms or superior and subordinate, but something different again, something equal.

“I thought my ears were burning,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Great way to kill the moment, Peñita.”

“Sorry. I wanted to wish you luck. And offer you some Dutch Courage, if you're interested?” Javier produced a hip flask from behind his back. “A present from Search Bloc,” was his answer to the quizzical looks he was met with.

“Just a taste, then. I don’t want Juana thinking I’m drunk.” Trujillo took a restrained swig. “Any last-minute advice?” he asked Javier, passing him the flask.

“You want marriage advice from me? Er, don’t do a runner before she gets here?”

“Good one, brother.”

“He did warn you,” Horacio added, shooting Javier a pointed look.

“True. Although,” Trujillo lowered his voice and glanced at the doorway, “neither of you might be married, but…you’ve been through a lot together. And I think it’s made you stronger. So, you must be doing something right.”

A wordless nod and one last swig for good measure were exchanged.

Javier and Horacio were unsure if it was the alcohol or something else causing the heat to rise in their cheeks. But either way, they were in quiet agreement with Trujillo’s assessment.

It wasn’t long before the words “She’s here!” were whispered with barely contained glee from beyond the door, and it was time to take their places.

The ceremony, even the drier elements, passed quicker than most weddings Javier and Horacio had been to. It was the first one Javier had attended since…well, not even his own now he thought about it because he never made it to the church. He never saw Lorraine’s dress either, as, unsurprisingly, she had changed out of it by the time he was forced to explain himself. Not that Javier really could explain at the time. But then, it was much easier to understand something was wrong once he knew what was right.

Between Felipe’s pristine uniform and Juana’s mantilla veil, memories of Horacio's Mamá wearing a strikingly similar black veil to his Papá’s funeral came to mind. But once upon a time, they had also stood at an altar like this with their shared life ahead of them, and even though the injustice of it being cut short would always linger, on this occasion, Horacio chose to cherish the fact it existed in the first place.

Furtive glances travelled between him and Javier as they bowed their heads to pray during the candle ceremony and for the exchange of rings and arras coins. It was a silent confirmation that whilst these rituals weren’t an option for them in the eyes of the law or church, their unofficial versions were no less significant. 

------------------------------------------------------

They moved on to the reception at Jardín Botánico de Medellín in the evening, a place Horacio hadn’t been to since his youth. The wedding meal was to be served under a spectacular orchid-shaped wooden canopy in the centre of the gardens. Tables dressed in white linen were decorated with flower arrangements to match those at the church, and favours included coffee beans and orchid seeds.

The newlyweds sat at the top table surrounded by close family and their padrinos and madrinas, the echoes of war still loud and everlasting given the notable absences. Javier, Horacio, Steve, Connie and Olivia sat on the next one, along with some familiar Search Bloc faces and Carlos Holguín staff.

At the adjacent table were Martínez Senior and Junior. Horacio and Martínez Senior had only crossed paths at occasional ceremonies and dinners, even though their fathers worked more closely in the past. As the war on drugs kicked in, it became apparent the two men had polar opposite approaches to their jobs. And whilst Horacio made Escobar his mission, Martínez took a different path, specialising in FARC operations in the jungle instead. Until their paths converged, that was.

“Do you think he knows?” Javier muttered over the rim of his champagne flute after Martínez Senior’s eyes briefly fell on them.

“About us? Why would he?” Horacio replied into the palm of his hand as he scratched his upper lip.

“I dunno. He knew about everything else. And he must have questions.”

“I’m sure he does. But do you think he’ll even want to speak to us? I already know he hates my guts.”

“He might be pleasantly surprised you’re not dead. You never know.”

Their hushed conversation was thankfully drowned out by Olivia interrogating Connie about everything from the guests’ outfits to the flower arrangements and when the food was coming, whilst Steve caught up with Jacoby.

The tables were soon full of plates and dishes bearing carne asada, lechona, patacones, arepas, tamales, milhojas, concadas, cuajada con melao, fruit salads and the centre piece Torta Negra Colombiana, decorated with flowers to match the colour scheme.

The cutting of the Torta Negra followed before the space was re-arranged, guests spilling out into the surrounding gardens, refreshing their drinks at the various pop-up bars or walking amongst the flowers and trees.

By dark, a dancefloor was unveiled in the centre of the canopy with a band playing cumbia, vallenato, merengue, bambuco, salsa and beyond.

Once the bride had thrown her bouquet, the single male guests gathered to place a shoe beneath her dress. Javier managed to escape the ritual in favour of sitting back and watching from the sidelines. But at the risk of inviting prying questions from his former colleagues if he did the same, Horacio reluctantly added his shoe to the pile. Typically, his was chosen by Juana, which, as per tradition, meant he would be next to marry.

From several feet away, Horacio could see Javier’s suggestive eyebrow and overt smirk, and they were even more brazen close up when Horacio re-joined him.

“Should we pick out rings, or…?”

An eyeroll was the only answer Javier was ever going to get to that question, and it came right on cue.

“Because, er,” Javier continued regardless, clearing his throat and casually glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, “seeing you in your shirt stays this morning got me thinking how fucking good you’d look in a wedding garter.”

As Horacio was hit with a barrage of mental images and a dry mouth, a large cheer erupted as the next tradition got underway. This time, all male guests – not just the single ones – were rounded up to remove their belts, the idea being that the man with the longest belt was the winner. Of what exactly, Horacio was never sure when this had played out at past Colombian weddings he’d been to.

He stood opposite Javier as they fumbled with buckles, unhooking the leather straps from their belt loops and pulling them off in one swift motion. Their eyes remained fixed on each other from start to finish, an act fuelled by Javier’s last words.

The sound of cheering pulled them back with reluctance to the proceedings, and even though their belts were probably slightly longer than they used to be, they weren’t declared the winners. 

------------------------------------------------------

As the drinks flowed, so did the dancing, regardless of whether the paired-up guests knew each other or whether they could actually dance.

Javier’s next partner was a familiar face, though, who had at least taken a few dance classes to get to know some locals when first arriving in Colombia.

“Is Steve with Olivia?” he asked, grateful for a slower number so he could catch his breath and talk.

“Oh, no, she’s with the Jacobys. She’s made friends with their daughter, Chloe - they’re around the same age.” Connie twirled underneath Javier’s outstretched arm and back around again. “Steve is conveniently helping Horacio with the next round of drinks. He always did have hips as stiff as a board. I had to practically drag him up for our first dance.”

“That…doesn’t surprise me.”

“And what about Horacio?” Connie whispered into Javier’s shoulder as their feet slid across the floor in time with the music. “Does he need to loosen his hips, or is he a dark horse?”

“You should know a man never dances and tells. But…” Javier spun Connie on her heel again, pulling her close so his head was near her ear this time. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with his hips.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either. When did you say you were heading to Manizales?”

“In a couple of days.” Javier swallowed hard now the subject had been raised.

“How’s he holding up?”

“Okay. We’ve not really talked about it since Madrid. Figured we’d deal with it after the wedding, but -” Javier scoffed, cutting himself off mid-sentence.

“Now it’s nearly here,” Connie finished for him.

“Exactly. But I guess we couldn’t hide in Spain forever.” As tempting as it was some days.

They somehow made it to the other side of the dancefloor, narrowly avoiding multiple couples before escaping back to their table once the song was over.

“How’re you finding being back again?” Connie asked.

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Definitely weird at first.”

Their shared laughter came like a sigh of relief, a release of tension now they had spoken the truth out loud.

“But different.”

“It’s not like last time, right?” There was uncertainty in her unblinking eyes, a plea not only for reassurance but for honesty as well.

“Trujillo said anyone left from the cartel with half a brain cell skipped town or went underground before Pablo’s body was cold. They’ve been tracking down anyone dumb enough to have stuck around. So, no. It’s not like last time. I promise.”

His tone was soft but he looked Connie in the eye until she nodded, needing the conviction as much as she did.

“I know I never visited Madrid like I said I would – blame your ex-employer for that, by the way – but for what it’s worth, I don’t think Medellín’s the only one who’s different now. So, whatever happens, Javi…”

“I know.”

His hand found its way to hers on the table and gently squeezed. An acceptance that there was no denying traces of the past, as they had already discovered, but a translucent overlay had been placed on top of it now. Whether the two could co-exist in the long run, nobody yet knew, but at least it was finally the chance of a future for them and Medellín. 

------------------------------------------------------

Horacio picked one of the quieter bars, reeling off a list of drinks to the bartender and perching on a stool while he waited for his order.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

Before Horacio could respond, Steve had already sat on the adjacent stool, his back to the bar to accommodate his long legs.

“You sure you’re not just avoiding the dancefloor, Agent Murphy?” There was a hint of a mock interrogative tone to his voice as he turned sideways to face Steve.

Steve held his hands up in surrender. “You got me there. Although…” He dipped into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a couple of cigars. “Courtesy of the groom, if you’re interested?”

Horacio broke into a laugh. “He paid up, then.”

“Damn right.” Steve held one of the cigars closer to Horacio, tempting him despite the conflicted look Horacio was giving it. “I won’t tell Javi if you don’t tell Con.”

Horacio sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He put the cigar between his lips and took the lighter from Steve, hovering the flame near the foot until it took.

Steve did the same, a woody haze soon encircling them.

The bartender appeared with a trayful of drinks and once he was gone again, Horacio lifted a beer bottle and slid it across to Steve. “I never got a chance to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Stechner.”

A scowl stormed across Steve’s pupils, and he took a quick hard swig from his beer bottle, placing it back on the table with a little more force than intended. “It was my fuckin’ pleasure. You should’ve seen his face. Covered in blood and tears in his eyes when my hand squeezed his throat.”

He swapped his beer for his cigar, relishing in that sweet memory as a ring of smoke hovered above his head like a misplaced halo.

Every now and then, Steve still surprised Horacio. Because occasionally, Horacio caught glimpses of the turbulence that raged beneath the surface. It was a clumsier, more unrefined version than he was accustomed to, but he recognised and understood it nonetheless.

“Not sure I’d have been able to stop squeezing,” Horacio confessed.

“It was touch and go for a minute. But rumour has it, the new Country Attaché, Alana Cortés, and Messina were roommates all the way through their Academy days. And for a few years after…before Cortés took an assignment in Mexico out of the blue. But now she’s back.” Steve toasted the air with his beer bottle. “So good luck to our old friend, Bill, trying to pull her strings.”

Horacio raised his glass to meet Steve’s bottle, although there was an ulterior motive to leaning forward a fraction. “I take it you’ve heard nothing else about the photos?” His words were delivered towards the floor in case of the minutest likelihood anyone around them was the world’s best lip reader.

“Not a thing. But I’d handle it if something did happen; you have my word. Cali’s beyond my remit, but I’d put good money on Stechner’s attention being there now he can’t use us anymore.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Oh, and you were right, too.”

“About what?”

“Javi tryin' to shut me out.”

“Well, thanks for not letting him.”

They bowed their heads and returned to their cigars, a surprisingly comfortable silence sitting between them.

“How was he in Madrid?” Steve asked in the end.

“Good, mostly. There were bad days, obviously. But he sleeps better now.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“No. I think there’s a lot of that going around.”

“It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s that?”

“Being back. Like it was all just some fuckin’ dream. Like it wasn’t really me on that rooftop. Like everyone knew it should’ve been you in that photo instead.”

Horacio might not have been there for the final showdown, but he'd seen enough newspapers and bulletins to know that photo well. The one where Escobar’s limp body was held up to the camera like a trophy, now the hunt was over.

“Yeah, well, I made sure it wasn’t me, didn’t I?” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve had to make my peace with it. And so should you.”

“I played out that moment so many times. Thought about all the ways we’d catch him. Over and over, I let it run through my head. But I wasn’t expecting him to look so…pathetic. Like any other son of a bitch criminal runnin’ scared when his time’s up.”

“Because that’s all he was. But it was real. And he’s gone. No matter what happens, they can’t take that away from us.”

“But now what?”

“Now, we live our lives. We don’t forget, but we move on.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Just as they toasted their drinks, they were rumbled.

“Might’ve known this is where you’d be hiding. Found them!” Javier called over his shoulder.

Trujillo followed behind Javier; his police uniform now exchanged for a lightweight guayabera. “Anything to avoid a dancefloor. Blondie, are those my cigars?”

“I think you’ll find they’re mine now, Major. I might have a couple of spares lying around, though.” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out more like he was performing a magic trick.

Trujillo rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking.” 

------------------------------------------------------

Once Steve had braved the canopy to pass Connie her drink, the four men retreated to a deserted part of the gardens where pine tables and chairs with canvas covering them were dotted amongst the trees. White lights hung across the branches like fireflies and lanterns lined the decked walkways, the party and dancing reduced to a murmur in the distance.

The quartet sat around one of the pine tables, the first time they had been together like this since the old days back at Carlos Holguín.

“Can you believe we’re finally here?” Trujillo asked, savouring the spicy scent of his cigar as it combined with the fresh floral notes of the forest.

“At your wedding? Barely.”

Trujillo rolled his eyes at Javier’s teasing and shook his head. “You can tick comedian off your list of career options.”

Steve sucked in air through his teeth at their war of words. “See what I had to put up with.”

“Says the white boy who needed me to be his fucking translator 24/7.”

A collective braying sound travelled around the table this time before it morphed into laughter and Steve making use of any Spanish swear word he could think of.

“But in all seriousness...no, not really,” Javier replied in earnest after they returned to their cigars.

“Sometimes when I wake up, it takes me a minute to remember he’s not still lurking out there somewhere.”

“But he’s not.” Horacio’s eyes glowed with steely determination, needing to put a line under this once and for all. “You made sure of that. You gave Medellín a future. And now it’s time to start yours.” He raised his glass to the centre of the table. “To Juana and Felipe.”

“To Juana and Felipe!” Javier and Steve echoed as their drinks clinked with Horacio’s.

“And to Colombia,” Felipe added.

“To Colombia!”

------------------------------------------------------

Once the cigars were stubbed out, Trujillo and Horacio were pulled away for a Search Bloc reunion, leaving Javier and Steve to their drinks.

“I was telling Carrillo about Cortés earlier.”

“How did you find out about her, by the way? You never said on the phone.”

“Just some good old fashioned slightly off-the-record detective work, that’s all.”

“You covered your tracks, though, right? Because they’ll know it was you who gave her my intel. Even if they can’t prove it.”

“’Course. Although it wouldn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure that out. Same with Stechner’s busted face. Don’t think anyone bought it was your handiwork.”

“To be fair, there’s a critical shortage of geniuses in the DEA. Present company included, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Steve retaliated by raising his middle finger in response to Javier’s trademark wink. “But most people hate Stechner as much as we do, so no one came asking. Never saw him around the school again after that, although I’m sure he must’ve been prowlin' about somewhere.”

“More than likely. So, er…no one’s mentioned the photos either?”

“No. And like I told Carrillo, even if they did, I’d handle it, Javi. I promise. There’s more shit on Stechner out there, I fuckin’ know it. Messina was getting too close, remember. I don’t think I’ll have to dig deeper, but look at it as an insurance policy.”

“Makes sense. And thanks, Steve. For Stechner. For the intel. For reassuring Horacio, apparently.”

Javier laughed at the thought of them engaged in something resembling a heart-to-heart. But if truth be told, it brought warmth to his chest to realise the two men could be considered friends-of-sorts these days. Not that he dared tell them that.

Steve gave a lazy salute with one hand whilst the other took a swig of his drink. “Don’t expect that to become a habit, by the way.”

And there it was, right on cue, just as Javier anticipated. “Oh, no, of course not.”

“It was a one-time-only Wedding Special kinda deal.”

“Right. Exactly.”

Javier took a long sip of his drink to hide the smirk threatening to explode into an undiplomatic laugh if he wasn’t careful.

“Any idea when you’re moving back to the States?” Steve asked, seemingly oblivious to Javier’s impressive restraint.

“Not really. It depends on Horacio’s visa. We haven’t decided on the best route yet. I’d forgotten how much fucking paperwork’s involved.”

It was no wonder Javier held such disdain for bureaucracy when the wrong piece of paper was the difference between crossing a border and not. When someone’s life was reduced down to a list of rigid criteria without much consideration for the sacrifice and hardship it often took to get to that point in the first place. It was why he had done his best to help informants get an American visa wherever possible, even if it meant bending rules until they snapped.

He knew Horacio had more options than most – more than his grandparents’ generation did – and they had been lucky with their past visas. But he tried not to think about the fact their future would be in the hands of an officious government administrator. One most likely not prepared to bend any rules in the slightest.

“You got that right. Don’t s’pose he’s thought about law enforcement?”

Javier shot Steve a sharp look. “Hilarious.”

“I thought so. And what about you? Any ideas what’s next?”

“Me? Fuck, I dunno, man. Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“You’ll both figure it out, y’know.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You always do. You’re like me and Con. We’ve had our rough patches, several of ‘em while we were here – and a few more since we left, come to think of it – but somehow, we get through it. Same as you and Horacio.”

“You drunk, Murphy?”

Steve contemplated that as though he hadn’t considered the possibility until now despite the array of empty glasses covering the table. “Fuck, I think I am.” He let out a loud snigger before hushing himself. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.” For all of Javier’s stoicism, he stood no chance, and it wasn’t long before they were giggling like schoolboys.

“About the rough patches, though…” Steve said once they had calmed down. “Any tips?”

“Someone once told me it’s okay to not always be in the same boat even if you’re in the same storm. Sometimes, you just need your own boat. But as long as you’re trying to sail in the same direction...and want to be in the same boat as much as possible, you can get through it.”

“Huh. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but that actually makes sense. Who do I need to thank?”

Javier smiled, almost able to smell fresh churros if he closed his eyes hard enough. “Someone a lot older and wiser than us.”

“Figures. And my point still stands, by the way.”

“What point’s that exactly?”

“You might not have worked out the finer details yet, but…” Steve gestured for Javier to move forward as though he was about to share highly classified intel. “The worst’s over now. We don’t forget, but we move on.” He nodded sagely before dropping his voice to little more than an alcohol-infused rumble. “This is your happy ending, Javi. Go live it.”

As they returned to the party, Steve alternating between leaning against Javier and patting him enthusiastically on the back whilst attempting something vaguely resembling Spanish, there was no doubt in Javier’s mind that Steve was wasted and probably had been for most of their conversation.

But when it came to the sentiment behind Steve’s garbled words, something told Javier that didn’t matter.

------------------------------------------------------

Maybe it was Horacio’s age or the quiet life he had become accustomed to, but he couldn’t keep up with Search Bloc’s drinking. The aguardiente shots were in full flow when he left them to it, doubling back towards where he had left Javier and Steve.

He made it past the bustle of the bar and round the corner towards a small rock garden with a walkway to the trees lying beyond.

“So, the rumours were true, then.”

Force of habit made Horacio momentarily reach for where his gun holster used to be as he spun around to face the voice from the shadows of a wooden bench.

“Depends which ones you’re talking about,” he replied in a measured tone now he knew the source of the voice. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“Well, let’s put it this way...you certainly look well for a dead man, Colonel Carrillo.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“Not at all. Vengeance isn’t my style.”

“Nor mine these days.”

“So I’ve heard. Congratulations on your retirement. I’d say that beats jail, wouldn’t you?”

Horacio scoffed as he sat on the opposite end of the bench, his brow flexing at such an expertly delivered blow. “I guess I deserved that.”

“I think we both know what a man deserves and what a man gets are rarely the same thing.”

“True. But you’ll always be Colonel Martínez: the man who stopped Escobar.”

“Perhaps so. But was death not the easier way out?”

“Easier than what? Vengeance?”

“Justice.” Martínez gave Horacio a long look from his end of the bench. “Gaviria was the one who wanted him dead. It’s no wonder you two got along so well.”

“I did my duty. As Gaviria did his and you did yours. We played the hands we were dealt.”

“Yes, and he dealt mine well when he signed my son up to Search Bloc before offering me your job.”

Realisation slowly spread across Horacio’s face, and without meaning to, he gave Martínez a look tinged with pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I kept him alive. He was transferred to a new intel unit instead…where he intercepted radio transmissions from Pablo the day we caught him.”

A curve of a smile formed on Horacio’s lips. “Funny how it works out sometimes.”

Horacio was reminded of his own double-edged sword of a path to becoming leader of Search Bloc. The journey began with Javier and a briefcase full of cash being deposited in the lap of General Jaramillo, forcing the General’s greedy hand to appoint Horacio as head of the anti-drug squad and make him a Colonel. A job that was already a poisoned chalice on account of his predecessor winding up dead at the hands of the cartel.

Javier using gringo money to buy Horacio a promotion had been a bone of contention between them back then. Too many heated discussions under the influence led to an argument where “Everybody works for somebody" and “Don’t ever mistake me for one of your whores again” were the last words to hang between them in a heavy fog of smoke, whiskey and undefinable tension for several weeks. During which time, Horacio was even more ruthless than usual. And as if to prove a point, Javier practically became a temporary resident at his favourite brothel.

The hypocrisy of the situation had sat uneasily under Horacio’s skin when he had always taken such a hard line on bribery from the narcos. Was this really any different?

But conversely, if he hadn’t been allowed to build his own force of incorruptible men, he would never have led the operation on Gacha. He would never have ended up in those quarters in Tolú with Javier. On his cot with Javier underneath him.

“Yes, it is. I did tell Gaviria I would bring Escobar into custody unless he resisted. But of course, he resisted.”

“Then maybe Escobar didn’t care about justice as much as you think he did. And there’s nothing you could have done about that.”

“Aren’t we supposed to care about justice, though? And I don’t mean the vigilante kind you and Los Pepes were so fond of administering.”

“You sound like the gringos I used to work with.” A surge of nostalgia rose in Horacio’s chest, and he’d have been surprised if it wasn’t showing on his face. Although, of course, it was one gringo in particular he had in mind.

“If you think I wanted Escobar to be extradited to an American jail, you’re mistaken. He was our problem to deal with, not theirs.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck about a corrupt form of justice. How would that have been better than what I did? So many judges, politicians and journalists were bought or killed alongside our men. He wanted Colombia to bleed, and he’d have done whatever it took to make sure he didn’t remain in a cell. You, Trujillo, Search Bloc…you cauterised the wound that no one else could.”

“For now. I think we both know this was something of a Pyrrhic victory. And not the end.”

“Two things we can agree on.”

Reluctant smiles crossed their faces despite everything.

“I think our fathers managed a few more.”

“So I was told at Papá’s wake. How is your father doing these days?”

“He’s fine. Retired now but relieved the hunt is over. I think he hated watching from the sidelines.”

“I know the feeling.”

The distant drumbeat of the live band carried on the gentle breeze through the garden, whispering like ghosts through the plants and trees surrounding them.

“I may not have agreed with your methods, but I was very sorry about your father.”

“Me too. And for what it’s worth, I think my father would’ve been sorry about my methods as well.”

“I cannot imagine how losing a parent so young would have changed my path. And to be clear, this isn't to be taken as an excuse, but by your own ethos, you played the cards you were dealt, did you not?”

Horacio laughed. “Something like that.”

“I must admit, you were a tough act to follow.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. The level of respect you commanded from your men wasn’t easy to replicate.”

“You still got invited here, though.”

“True. And I accepted the invite despite my suspicions the groom was assisting Agent Peña before his departure.”

Horacio’s jaw ticked in anticipation of the treacherous tightrope he would need to tread here. He and Javier were out, done, without their badges or weapons. But Trujillo wasn’t.

“Suspicions or evidence?” he settled on in the end.

“Suspicions based on what I witnessed. But I think there’s irrefutable evidence his and Peña’s unfaltering loyalty rested with you rather than with me.”

“Trujillo also fired a bullet through Escobar’s skull.”

“Yes. An act I don’t judge him for in the circumstances. And rest assured, I have no intention of reporting my suspicions to anyone. Major Trujillo’s motives aren’t the ones still eluding me.”

Horacio swallowed down the dread burning the back of his throat like bile that was in danger of choking him if he didn’t get rid of it quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“You never struck me as a man afraid of death. And whilst I can understand the ambush might have made some reconsider their career choice, I wouldn’t have put you down as one of them.”

“Do you really think there was anything left for me in Search Bloc? My superiors already had your name on their lips to replace me long before I was shot.”

“In Search Bloc, perhaps not. But I’m sure the CNP would have allowed you back once the dust settled. They forgave you for far worse than being shot.”

Horacio huffed sarcastically despite how unwise it was to get sucked into the conversation. “I can assure you my decision was never about them. And it’s nothing you didn’t do for your son.”

That seemed to be the winning blow as Martínez nodded in concession. “True. We can’t afford to be afraid of death in our profession. But when it comes to the people we love, I must confess…I can’t apply the same rule.”

Horacio gripped the edge of the bench and focused intently on his feet, fearing even glancing in Martínez’s direction would fill in the few remaining blanks. He managed a minimal grunting noise in his throat that he hoped sounded like agreement.

“However, many times, I’ve asked myself why a man such as Peña would have destroyed his career so recklessly, and so close to the finish line. But I’ve been unable to settle on an answer.”

It wasn’t quite the change of subject Horacio hoped for. “Well, for starters,” he began, raising his gaze from his shoes at last, not out of a newly acquired sense of bravery but because he knew he needed to be convincing. “I wouldn’t read too much into Judy Moncada’s Get Out Of Jail Free Card.”

“Oh, I didn’t. I know Peña’s role was only a small part of something a lot bigger than he, you or I could control. But I have to wonder what leverage they had over him to make a deal with the devil impossible to refuse.”

Horacio had no intention of engaging further, but it wasn’t the first time he had wondered about the gap he left that was hastily – and bloodily – filled by Los Pepes. Would they even have been necessary if he'd never left? Or would they have tried their luck in approaching him with the offer of an allegiance? It caused his stomach to swoop if he focused too much on the people involved in that hypothetical scenario. But then he thought of Javier, and he knew with every fibre of his being if their roles had been reversed, he would have done the same.

“I’m sure every man has his reasons if the price is high enough.”

Martínez cocked his head in Horacio’s direction with a creased brow, holding eye contact for a fraction longer than Horacio was comfortable with. “Quite.”

Drunken laughter followed by a sniggered hush abruptly cut through the loud silence. The two Colonels – past and present – turned around to be met with the sight of Javier trying to control the swaying bulk of limbs belonging to his former partner.

Javier spotted them first and halted in his tracks, hoping the dim lighting hid the flash of horror on his face at the sight of two parallel universes colliding in front of him on a garden bench.

Steve apparently was oblivious to what they had stumbled across as he carried on along the path back to the party with just about enough of his faculties remaining to reunite with Connie.

“Everything alright?” Javier asked, fingers twitching on his right hand as he looked from one side of the bench to the other, then back again.

“Yeah, fine.” But Horacio’s eyes found Javier’s in the flecks of light from the lanterns hanging amongst the tree branches and told a more complicated story. “We were just comparing notes.”

“Oh yeah? Any interesting findings?” Javier’s eyes stayed fixed on Horacio’s or the floor for the most part, only risking a brief glance or two at Martínez.

“A few,” Martínez chipped in as he studied them more carefully than they were likely aware of. “Some that I will never be able to excuse or forgive, but I think I understand one thing more clearly now.”

“What’s that?” Horacio asked.

“I always believed there were two types of people in this world: those who rely on hope and those who rely on faith. But now, I see some rely on both.”

Before Javier or Horacio could formulate a response, Martínez announced it was time to locate his son as they had early shifts in the morning.

Their farewell involved little more than a handshake, a stern nod and an exchange of “Good luck.” But it was a necessary formality for all parties. A mark of mutual respect that wasn’t quite an offered or accepted olive branch but at least a truce. And that was enough. 

------------------------------------------------------

“You okay?” Javier asked once Martínez had disappeared from view.

“Yeah. Well, I guess it was inevitable at some point.”

“Didn’t expect it to go like that, though. What the fuck did he mean? Just before he left. Does he know?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think he’s telling anyone anything either way.”

“Agreed. We don’t have to stay if you’d rather -”

“No.” Horacio was quiet for a second, craning his ear towards the sound of the band behind the large cluster of trees they had sat amongst earlier. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He looked around them in all directions, twice, to be on the safe side, then took Javier by the hand and escorted him along one of the walkways. However, they branched off in a different direction than before, Horacio surprising himself with childhood memories of the layout of this place that he assumed were lost to the sands of time.

“What are -?”

“You’ll see.”

The path spiralled in circles, leaving them surrounded by greenery until they arrived at a softly lit water fountain in the centre. They were somehow closer to the sound of the music, even though they had moved further away from the party.

As they stilled, Javier looked expectantly at Horacio, who was already removing his jacket, placing it carefully on the ground and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Javier did the same, still not understanding what this was all about, but the look in Horacio’s eye made him want to find out.

Horacio stepped closer, moonlight casting reflections from the fountain, illuminating the spark of hunger glinting in his pupils. “I’ve spent all night watching you dance with half the wedding party.” One hand dropped to Javier’s waist and tugged him forward into his hold. “It’s my turn now.”

Javier’s breath hitched as Horacio pressed them together, his hands automatically falling to Horacio’s hips to steady himself. “You only had to ask,” he said, the smoky timbre of his voice vibrating against Horacio’s ear.

“I thought line-dancing was more your thing.”

Javier nipped at Horacio’s earlobe in revenge. “That was when I was a kid. And you weren’t complaining about my dancing skills on our anniversary.”

Horacio let out an agreeable sigh as he chased the scrape of Javier’s teeth. “No, I wasn’t. But as nice as that was, we were hardly moving.”

“True. And if you must know, the Texas Two-Step got me several phone numbers back in the day. Lorraine’s being one of them. She was more into it than me, but it was actually kinda fun…for a while anyway.”

Memories of Saturday nights spent at old Texan dance halls and barn dances suddenly filled Javier’s mind. The faded aroma of leather and iron rust lingered alongside stale Lone Star beer, cigarette smoke and overpowering perfume as he led his partner across the worn wooden floor in time to the likes of Laura Canales and Hank Locklin.

His gaze would travel around the room – which was easier during a do-si-do – sometimes to make sure they didn’t collide with other dancers, sometimes to give anyone who caught his eye a discreet once-over. If he happened to hone in on a male dancer's tight-fitted jeans and fluid hip movements, it could easily be disguised as admiration for his female partner.

Not that it ever led to any encounters. Not there anyway; it wasn’t anonymous enough. But it was still a temptation. And yet another instance of feeling caught between two worlds: to have the tangible heat and beauty of a woman in his arms whilst fantasising about a mysterious, alluring man from afar, knowing he could never do the same with him in front of an audience.

“Juliana taught me to dance too. Or tried to, at least. She competed a lot when she was younger.”

Horacio smiled at the unexpected memory of them practising in her parents' kitchen, her father watching them like a hawk, glaring every time Horacio put a foot wrong or his hands fell lower than her waist despite the fact she was a grown woman. And his hands had already done much more than that whenever they had the place to themselves. His relationship with her father was the polar opposite of his relationship with Chucho, now he thought about it.

It wasn’t Juliana’s fault, though. And when they were alone on a crowded dancefloor, before his job and life came between them, before he understood the strange, borderline resentment twisting in his chest if he clocked male dancers with a particular look or build, they were content.

One of their favourite clubs ran a cumbia contest on the first Saturday of each month. The prize was tokenistic, free drinks on their next visit, but that didn’t matter on the occasions they came first when Juliana would tell her parents the good news at church the following day. The look on her father’s face as Horacio tried and failed to stifle a smug expression at her side would always be priceless.

“You ever danced any cumbia?” he asked Javier now.

“Some. At parties, weddings, quinceañeras…but that’s going back before I came to Colombia.” There might have been a few hazy nights in clubs and bars over here as well, but dancing hadn’t been his modus operandi in those days.

“So, you’ve never done it with a Colombian?”

Javier’s brow quirked of its own accord, and his tongue swept deliberately across his top lip. “No, er, you’d be my first.”

Horacio kept an impassive expression with his mouth, but his darkening pupils gave him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“You know that won’t be necessary.”

Somewhere in the middle of their flirtation, they loosened their embrace, one hand linked in the space between them as their feet stepped back and forth, then side to side, their movements mirroring one another. Quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow.

Without warning, Horacio pulled Javier across his body and under their arms, spinning him around with force, then bringing them face-to-face again.

“Lucho Bermúdez was one of the great musical legends here in Colombia. Still is after his death last year. Mamá and my Abuelas listened to him all the time whenever the whole family got together. Do you know the name of this song?”

Horacio waited until their noses were almost touching to ask as their feet subconsciously glided over the paving stones beneath them.

Javier merely shook his head, their legs intermittently brushing together as their hips popped to the beat before he was spun once, twice, thrice until he was dizzy and out of breath.

“Tolú,” Horacio whispered as they reconverged, his lips skimming Javier’s and his eyes flickering shut as flashes of them on his cot in their shadowed quarters flooded into view.

Javier teased his bottom lip over Horacio’s, moustache swiping back and forth until they shuddered, a different first time as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

But they never stopped dancing. Horacio looped through their arms until he had his back to Javier, one hand each gripped at Horacio’s waist. They shimmied sideways, their free hands entwined by their shoulders to guide them back and forth, switching their hold each time they travelled across the floor. Another spin, another brush of legs, or an electric look making it clear which memories of Tolú they were thinking of.

The song ended, leaving only their charged breaths and the evening breeze rustling through the maze of trees protecting them from prying eyes.

Then, the band struck up again, so they kept dancing. Their bodies and minds synchronised as they paid homage to the country that had brought them together in the unlikeliest circumstances, Horacio interjecting with memories from childhood whenever old classics were played. He was even forced to swear on the cross between their chests that he had nothing to do with the band playing Noches de Cartagena of all songs.

------------------------------------------------------

By the time Javier prised his eyes open, unwelcome rays were already bursting through any gap in the blinds they could find. He craned his neck above Horacio’s still form, his watch on the nightstand reading 8:45am; ouch.

He’d survived on minimal sleep plenty of times, but he couldn’t remember getting home from a wedding past 5:00am before. If he was honest, they were tempted to call it a night once their private party for two ended. But it would have been rude to miss out on the dancers – professional this time – costumes and confetti of La Hora Loca. When in Colombia and all that.

They still had a few hours before they were to reconvene with the wedding party for the ultimate hangover cure of bandeja paisa, so Javier’s nose and moustache brushed over the nape of Horacio’s neck, arms slotting around him from behind.

A serene purr soon followed as Horacio stirred and leaned into Javier’s touch.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Javier’s lips now worked their way to the side of Horacio’s neck, concentrating on a sweet spot below his ear.

“Liar.” Although Horacio’s whole body arched and his head tilted to give Javier what he wanted.

“Surprised I was awake before you, to be honest.”

“It took me a while to get to sleep…all of two and a bit hours ago.” Horacio winced into the pillow at how little rest he’d actually had.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm, yeah.” He raised his head and shifted so he was lying face-to-face with Javier. “I was just thinking about my family.”

“Makes sense.”

“When we arrived, we were so focused on the wedding. I didn’t let myself think about what comes next. But now…”

“I said the same to Connie last night. But…maybe we’re ready to rip off the band-aid.”

“Maybe. Part of me just wanted to get it out of the way when I was lying awake. But you nodded off in record time.”

“I think you wore me out.”

“But you enjoyed it, though?”

“It was perfect.” Javier closed the space between them, seeking out Horacio’s lips until he was met with a hum of agreement.

Javier pushed his luck, ducking below Horacio’s ear and descending over the column of his throat. Testing the waters to see if Horacio wanted the distraction Javier was more than willing to provide. “And how’s this?”

“Pretty fucking perfect too.”

Their kisses started languorous due to their lack of sleep, building to something fervid as Horacio nipped at Javier’s pout, catching it between his teeth until it was plump and swollen.

Javier retaliated, coaxing Horacio’s tongue towards his with expert flicks, tasting faint traces of last night’s cigars, until he captured it and sucked, long and thorough.

Limbs tangled between bedsheets soon became Javier whimpering facedown into a pillow whilst Horacio dipped and devoured, creating a slick glide between Javier’s thighs, the relief visceral when lining up and pushing forwards.

Horacio experimented with bracing yet measured rotations as he mouthed along the expanse of Javier’s trapezius, lost in a sea of broad muscle. He’d always loved watching the fabric of Javier’s shirts stretch and strain at his upper back, an eye-catching contrast to the narrow hips his jeans hugged oh so tightly. And now, the shirt wasn’t required, and he was the one setting Javier’s skin alight, triggering a visible response to every touch or movement like putty in Horacio’s hands.

Javier loved being vindicated that there was nothing wrong with Horacio’s hips whatsoever. Of being denied any forewarning of what came next from biting down on a pillow with his eyes screwed shut, the only way he could avoid prematurely spilling all over the sheets beneath him. It was a close call several times, calming breaths required to refocus, a request for Horacio to stop or slow down needed before it was game over.

Knowing he reduced Javier to begging because it was too much put Horacio on thin ice, and any more pleas like that would have finished him off. But the throbbing of his cock was in sync with his pulse, loud and insistent, and keeping still wasn’t having the same effect anymore. The salty taste on his tongue as it swiped over the nape of Javier’s neck where the silver chain still remained was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t ignore.

“Fuck me,” he rasped against Javier’s ear.

Without hesitation, Javier flipped onto his back, the loss of contact causing an ache of frustration. But it was replaced by straddling, groping and grinding, propelling Horacio up the mattress until his thighs were encased around Javier’s head.

Now it was Javier’s turn to feast, spreading Horacio with vigour, darting, licking, kissing, leaving trails of saliva, moaning as his cock was engulfed and fingers danced over his balls.

The scratch of nails scored Horacio’s ass as he worked Javier over, lapping with greed, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head and switching up the strength of suction, putting everything they had learnt in Madrid into practice.

They pulled off before it was too late, grabbing the bottle of lube and lying supine across the mattress with Javier underneath Horacio.

Javier’s feet were planted flat on the bed, giving him enough purchase to buck upwards with force, one hand holding on at the waist whilst the other roamed freely across the plains of Horacio’s chest, kneading fistfuls of pectoral muscles and skimming over his rib cage down to his thighs.

Javier caressed each thigh in turn, circling and massaging with his thumb, marvelling at how the span of his hand only reached a fraction of the way around them. “I meant what I said last night. About how good a garter would look on you.” His glutes clenched as he propelled upwards for extra emphasis.

The seed was sewn in Javier’s head as he watched Horacio dress for the wedding. It wasn’t the first time Horacio had worn what was a standard part of his dress uniform. A trick of the trade amongst police and military to avoid sanctions for a creased shirt. But it was the first time Javier had seen the shirt stays sitting snugly around Horacio’s muscular thighs. It was the first time he wanted to slip his fingers underneath the neat straps, maybe twang them or pull them tighter with his teeth whilst on his knees. Or as Horacio rode him with his back to Javier, one side of his shirt unclipped, underwear and a single garter tantalisingly removed, the other kept secured in place.

A guttural groan rumbled through Horacio’s chest like he had read Javier’s mind. “What kind?” he breathed out, surprised by his eagerness to indulge Javier and how fast his hand shot to his cock.

Javier choked back expletives at Horacio’s question and the sight above him. “I was thinking something leather…with a buckle…to match your belt and boots.” Each punishing thrust broke up his speech with strained grunts as he spread Horacio’s thighs wider, manoeuvring him up and down at the same pace. “Maybe one on your arm too….and a harness…to go with your hat…cowboy.”

“Fuck,” Horacio panted into Javier’s mouth at an awkward angle on the pillow, stroking himself roughly. Sparks of arousal multiplied with each wrist jerk as he pictured the look Javier gave him during the belt contest. Imagined him buckling the firm yet supple material until it bound tightly against Horacio’s sensitive skin like armour only they were allowed to put on or take off.

Javier’s hand replaced Horacio’s as he let his cock be held in stasis, basking in the heat and comfort of their joined form. His fingers journeyed back to Horacio’s mouth, tracing over it until Horacio parted his lips for Javier to feed two, then three digits inside.

Horacio sucked down, tasting himself as well as Javier as he swirled and licked, swallowing past the knuckles; faster and greedier. But it wasn’t enough.

Maybe it was the false pretences kept up the previous day and night combined with what lay ahead, but Javier seemed too far away. He always did when they were in public, but even more so when wearing a three-piece suit at a romantic wedding that wasn’t and couldn’t be theirs. It was why they still relished the time they could spend alone. And why they had needed Madrid. Because all those hidden looks and blink-and-miss, ‘accidental’ unseen brushes of hands could only be suppressed for so long. Last night, it had spilt out as inadvertent foreplay. But now, they needed more.

“Turn around,” Horacio said after releasing Javier’s glistening fingers.

They lay heart-to-heart, Horacio on his back, legs wrapped around Javier. Javier’s tongue skimmed across the breadth of Horacio’s chest, taking his sweet time working over each nipple, the scrape of teeth causing Horacio to lift upwards until Javier plunged him back down again.

And Horacio didn’t resist, his mind and body in free flight as the weight of Javier anchored him, allowed him to feel each and every nerve vibrate, his arms sliding above his head in complete surrender, offering them for Javier to claim.

Javier plotted a course across any patch of bare skin he could reach, licking up and down Horacio’s underarms, inhaling the musky scent of sweat before switching to his triceps, then biceps. On the left, he mouthed his way along the muscles; any marks left intentional reassurances and promises for their present and future, their bodies mapped stories of their lives.

Along the right, he eased up when he came to the faded scar at the mid-point of Horacio’s shoulder, placing tender butterfly kisses over the blemished skin, blinking away visions of a bullet tearing it open and taking care not to let his teeth make unwanted contact with their past.

He gradually dragged his mouth away until their gaze met, the rise and fall of Horacio’s chest compelling Javier to lay his head on it, soothed by the steady beat and the massage at his scalp.

Satisfied, Javier lifted Horacio’s arms back above them, sweeping over the peaks and troughs of fortified shoulders, forearms and wrists until they slotted through fingers that clamped around his like a vice.

Javier rocked in a pounding rhythm, Horacio’s legs rising higher, pushing Javier deeper as compensation for being unable to reach out and touch. Horacio honed in on the lifeline at his fingertips, the stimulation against his prostate and the safety of Javier’s forehead, all thoughts about the upcoming days put on hold.

But Javier could sense Horacio needed more again. It was written all over the beautiful agony of his face and the silent request in his eyes.

So, hands unlocked to let fingernails brand skin, tug at damp strands of hair and graze over stubble, the metallic ice of the cross contrasting with the fire burning in the core of their chests as they danced more synchronised steps only they knew.

A change in angle caused a slow build of release to skirt the edges of Horacio’s limbs, toes curling as jolts of pleasure transformed into overflowing currents. The fuse was lit, a chain reaction of heat stoking a fire in the pit of his abdomen on the cusp of burning him from the inside out.

Another snap of hips, his own hand jerking his cock in a frenzy, a rush of white noise, shuddering, shaking breaths and a release of molten bliss across their stomachs.

The ripples kept coming as every sound, quiver or fluttering around Javier’s cock pushed him closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he finished inside Horacio, a desperate growl tearing from his throat, the brunt absorbed by Horacio’s left shoulder.

They didn’t move, preferring spent velvet kisses, the world now in slow motion.

Javier concentrated on Horacio’s nose and forehead, pouring everything into each gesture of affection until he whispered, “I love you. And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I love you too. And I know.”

------------------------------------------------------

They dozed a little too long after wearing each other out for the second time in 24 hours, so Horacio went ahead first, leaving Javier to shower and join him afterwards. But it made little difference to the proceedings as plenty of other guests were slow off the mark, too.

Tables were laid out around the nearby restaurant owned by Juana’s parents, leftover flower arrangements used as decorations because it would have been a shame to waste them. It was a much smaller space than the botanical gardens, but not all guests from the night before were expected to attend. A fact that brought immense relief to Horacio because he wouldn’t have to make conversation with a certain Colonel again.

Whilst waiting for Javier, he worked his way through his belated first coffee of the day and took a bite out of an arepa.

“Is there room for two more?”

Horacio raised his head to find Connie with Olivia in tow. “Of course.”

Connie did her best to encourage Olivia out of her hiding place behind her legs. “Come on, sweetie. Do you want something to eat?”

Olivia peeped out from behind Connie, eyeing Horacio with suspicion.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just a little shy and overtired this morning.”

“Some arepas are going spare if that helps?” Horacio kept his voice low and gentle, peering around Connie until he drew a curious expression out of Olivia.

Olivia looked up at her mother, who nodded for reassurance.

“Go ahead.”

Olivia left her hiding place and took the chair between Horacio and Connie, mumbling a thank you as she ate.

“Help yourself, too.”

“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll wait for Steve, whose painkillers should hopefully be kicking in about now. I don’t feel too bad, but I left him groaning into his pillow. Were you and Javi in the same state this morning?”

Horacio fought down a smirk with every strength of his being. “Something like that.”

“I knew it was a smart move to travel to Cartagena tomorrow instead.”

“Where are you staying?”

“A resort just off La Boquilla beach. Steve and I would’ve preferred something quieter, but there’s more to keep kids busy where we’re at.”

“I don’t know the area well, but it is a nice coast up there. With plenty more arepas.” Horacio directed his last sentence at Olivia, who had already made a start on her second.

She slowed her chewing before smiling at Horacio, who had remembered a trick or two from the younger days of dealing with his nieces and nephews. If all else failed, food usually won them round.

“I’ve only seen Medellín and Bogotá, so it’ll be nice to get out of the big cities for a change.”

Horacio cleared his throat and took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, it will.”

Connie leaned across the table to retrieve a freshly replenished pot of coffee and poured into her cup. “It’s a shame we won’t get a chance to see Manizales this time. But we’ll be thinking about it anyway.”

Horacio was startled out of his own coffee and met Connie’s eye, unsure how to respond before settling on a silent nod of thanks. “Maybe next time if all goes well.”

“I think we’d like that. Breaks like this are few and far between now we’re both back working.”

“How’s Miami these days?”

“Busy now we’re juggling our schedules with Liv’s. And we still have bad days sometimes, of course.” Connie gave Horacio a pointed look when talking of bad days, choosing her words carefully with Olivia in earshot. “But things are better now we’ve got more routine again…more stability.”

“Sounds familiar. I find being in the same country helps, too,” Horacio added with a wry smile.

“Exactly. Now we’re out the other side.”

“Yeah.”

They shared a knowing look, not wanting to say too much in front of Olivia about everything they had been through. It was hard to believe how much had happened and changed in the last few years, and it was clear everyone was still processing it all.

“How’s your arm doing now?” Connie asked in a hurry, keeping the mood light for the sake of her daughter. 

“It’s as good as new. Well, almost. The ranch kept me moving. I think I built back more muscle than I had before. And I kept up strengthening exercises in Madrid.”

“Wow, you’re doing better than most of my patients. I never had to tell you off once.”

“I don’t follow many orders, but it wasn’t worth my arm – or life – to ignore yours. So, thank you.”

“Try telling that to Steve...or this one here. But seriously, I’m just glad I could help. Especially when I hear you might be making ranch life more permanent?” There was a conspiratorial tone to her question. A question she clearly knew the answer to already but was having fun asking regardless.

“That’s the plan, hopefully. Madrid was always supposed to be temporary.”

“But it helped?”

“Yeah. It was exactly what we needed. And maybe you’ll find Cartagena is what you need.”

“I think we will.”

There was that look again, one that spoke volumes about their shared understanding, even if their experiences were different.

Horacio’s gaze drifted up to Javier, who still wore his aviators until he flopped down at their table, already reaching for a cup and the coffee pot.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon, Javi,” Connie greeted with a wink.

“Very funny. But looks like I still beat your husband.”

“Don’t suppose you saw him on your way over?”

“Nope. I’m sure he’ll appear once the food does.”

Javier was right, of course. A worse-for-wear Steve arrived as the bandeja paisa was brought to the tables before they tucked into huge hot trays of beans, rice, chicharrón, chorizo, carne en polvo, plantain, avocado, fried egg and more arepas.

They ate in comfortable silence, letting the food work its magic and fill them up for the rest of the day, highlights from the reception still fresh in everyone’s minds despite their current weariness.

Before long, it was time to wave the newlyweds off on their honeymoon to Bequia. Their goodbyes were short and sweet, knowing they would be keeping in touch long after the celebrations were over, especially when Trujillo’s parting words were, “I’ll be waiting for my ranch invitation in the post.”

And even through the loud crowd of well-wishers, he managed to hear the mumbled “Cheeky fucker” echoed back at him in unison.

------------------------------------------------------

Javier and Horacio stayed to finish their coffees once the beeps of the wedding car disappeared into the distance, the majority of the party now dispersed and leaving them sat alone.

“Pops rang just before I left the hotel. Think he wanted to check in before…well, y’know.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. The only bit of news he asked me to pass on was about him being offered first refusal on Ciro’s and Malena’s place.”

The fact the Ortegas were selling up wasn’t a surprise. Javier and Horacio had spent last Christmas in Laredo again, where Ciro and Malena had brought around a fresh batch of sopaipillas over the festive period. In the preceding months, they had gone back and forth on moving, but by December, they were set on putting the farm on the market in the New Year.

Horacio nodded slowly, his brow drawn tight across his forehead as he considered this new development carefully. “Makes sense.”

“Do you think he’ll seriously consider it at his age?”

“I think he has to. We buy the majority of our feed grain from them. Selling to an outsider could risk price hikes and shortages, or the new owners might want to supply to someone else. It’d be a big gamble. But if your father bought them out, then kept their staff on, used their expertise, maybe even increased the livestock with some of the extra land…I think it could be workable.”

Horacio was aware he was being watched and glanced up to face his audience. “What?”

“Nothing.” Although Javier knew his face told another story. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak such fluent cowboy before.”

“I’m not a—”

“Not yet,” Javier finished for him. “And I never said it was a bad thing.”

------------------------------------------------------

After every funeral, an additional service was held exclusively for CNP officers to attend. Whilst gravestones were located across Colombia in countless cemeteries, a modest wooden cross bearing a name was planted for each loss in the consecrated soil around the corner from Carlos Holguín.

Horacio had paid his respects here more times than he wished to remember, but he still wasn’t prepared for how vast the sea of the dead had become since his last visit. It was a silent expanse covering the grass for as far as the eye could see, the sole sign of life the weeds and wildflowers shooting up between the rows he walked through.

He recognised some names and could clearly picture their ashen-faced relatives as though it was yesterday when he stood on their doorsteps, hat in hand and solemn expression fixed in place. Others were indistinguishable from the rest. An indicator of the extent of the collateral damage and how long he had been away now.

As he stood in his civilian clothes, he felt strangely underdressed. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to wear his usual ranch attire since being back in Colombia and had returned to the beige khakis and polo shirts that felt like an unofficial uniform of their own. One that allowed him to get away with wholly unofficial business in the past, but today wasn’t about him. Today was about them. All of them. No matter who they were.

Perhaps against his better judgement, with the help of Trujillo, he had located the graves of Diana Turbay and Carolina García Velásquez. He didn't allow himself to remember Carolina’s name at the time, even though she had been plastered all over the papers alongside mysterious references to an “unidentified officer of the National Police” leading the raid on La Dispensaria. A story eerily repeated with Diana’s death.

He didn’t linger at their gravesides. But on those occasions, just like this one, Horacio bowed his head, recited a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross.

“Lo siento,” were the only words spoken before he retreated from the churchyard.

He had done all he could here for now, and it was time to…not forget but to move on. It was time to face his fears and look to the future. It was time to let old ghosts rest once and for all.

[pedripics]

hi! may i ask you something about this Super League? im confused because im new here. and what about that 1 billion euros for? thank you

Hi, of course 🫶🏻

The Super League is a rather complex topic, so I'm gonna give you a short summary and a longer version with the history and stuff under the cut.

In short, the Super League is a proposed football competition for football clubs in Europe that is aimed to rival the UEFA competitions, such as the Champions League, Europa League, and Conference League.

Format (this is the new version they just released):

It would include 64 men’s (spread across three leagues) and 32 women’s teams (spread across two leagues) playing midweek games in a league system across Europe. All clubs would play in groups of 8 – home and away – resulting in a guaranteed minimum of 14 matches per year. At the end of the season, a knockout stage of 8 clubs will be played in each league to determine the league champions. There would also be annual promotion and relegation between the three/ two leagues. The idea is that it would not interfere with domestic leagues.

History:

Proposals of Super Leagues in European football have been around for decades with the earliest ideas dating back to 1968. There were attempts to create a 'Super League' in 1987 and 1990 but they were abandoned after UEFA and FIFA threatened to sanction all involved clubs. In 2009, Florentino Pérez (president of Real Madrid) began planning a 'Super League' because the Champions League, in his words, was too "obsolete and problematic for the quality of the sport and an obstacle preventing clubs from growing their businesses and developing infrastructure." That idea resurfaced in 2020 when big clubs started suffering financially from the Covid-19 pandemic and ongoing debts. That got American investors interested who pledged US $5 billion towards its formation. In January 2021, FIFA and all six football's continental confederations (AFC, CAF, CONCACAF, CONMEBOL, OFC, and UEFA) issued a statement that rejected the formation of any breakaway European Super League and that they would ban any club or player involved from any competitions organised by FIFA and its six confederations.

Current 'European Super League':

In April 2021, Pérez announced the formation of the 'European Super League' (ESL) via a press release signed by twelve clubs that signed up to be involved (Arsenal, Chelsea, Liverpool, Manchester City, Manchester United, Tottenham Hotspurs, Inter Milan, Juventus, AC Milan, Atlético Madrid, FC Barcelona, and Real Madrid). The aim was a new competition that "provides higher-quality matches and additional financial resources for the overall football pyramid, provides significantly greater economic growth and support for European football via a long-term commitment to uncapped solidarity payments, which will grow in line with league revenues, would appeal to a new younger generation of football fans, and also would improve VAR and refereeing." Real Madrid, FC Barcelona, and Juventus were the three leading clubs. There is much more to the financial aspect of it (like solidarity payments, welcome bonuses, participation payments, commercial revenue, etc.), but that's rather complicated and depends on what newspaper you wanna believe.

Reception:

The announcement led to a joint statement from the governing bodies of the Premier League, La Liga and Serie A condemning the formation, with all governing bodies declaring to prevent the ESL from proceeding any further. Football governing bodies from Germany, France and Russia released similar statements. UEFA reiterated their statements made in January 2021, warning that any clubs involved in the Super League would be banned from all other domestic, European and world football competitions and that players from the clubs involved would also be banned from representing their national teams in international matches. (The Premier League and their governing body FA ruled out barring the six clubs from domestic competitions and preferred to not take legal action.) Numerous politicians expressed their opposition to the proposal of the ESL. Amongst commentators, footballers and managers, the ESL sparked contrasting opinions. Media companies were mostly opposed to the idea (which does not come as a surprise as ESL promises free viewing of all live matches). Many football fans, including the fans of the involved clubs, were not in support of the idea of the ESL. The backlash led to nine clubs (all clubs, except FC Barcelona, Real Madrid, and Juventus) announcing their intention to withdraw from the project in April 2023. However, eight of these nine clubs remained involved as stakeholders. In June 2023, Juventus announced their decision to leave the Super League project after facing a rumoured 5-year ban from all European competitions if they went through with the project. (That only leaves FC Barcelona and Real Madrid)

Legal issues:

In May 2021, the Super League filed a complaint to the Court of Justice of the European Union against UEFA and FIFA for their proposals to stop the competition. UEFA had opened disciplinary proceedings against FC Barcelona, Juventus, and Real Madrid, which were threatened to be excluded from all UEFA competitions, in order to sanction them but these measures were stayed until further notice as a result of the rulings from the Spanish commercial court and Swiss authorities. In June 2021, the Swiss Department of Justice and Police and the Spanish Commercial Court referred the issue to the Court of Justice of the European Union to question whether UEFA and FIFA have violated two articles of the Treaty of the Functioning of the European Union. Article 101 prohibits cartels and other agreements that could disrupt free competition in the EEA and Article 102 aims to prevent businesses in an industry from abusing their position or taking action to prevent new businesses from gaining a foothold in the industry. On 21 December 2023, the European Court of Justice (ECJ) ruled that FIFA and UEFA's rules, which banned clubs from joining rival competitions, such as the Super League, are contrary to EU law. UEFA's and FIFA's rules making new football projects subject to their prior approval are also unlawful.

What does the ECJ's ruling mean:

The ECJ's ruling is binding and not subject to appeal. The ECJ's decision on UEFA's rules does however not rule on whether the Super League should (or is allowed) to exist. UEFA needs to change and clarify its rules now to comply with EU law. Once the regulations are updated, the Super League will still need to acquire authorisation to set the competition up. The ruling basically gives companies like A22 the right to pitch a new football competition and for their application to be judged on criteria which are "transparent, objective, non-discriminatory and proportionate".

Revival of the project:

In December 2023, A22 announced a new, updated proposal (which I already explained under format). However, many clubs have issued statements opposing the idea (including clubs, who were once involved in the ESL). As of right now, Real Madrid, FC Barcelona and SSC Napoli have issued statements in support of the ESL. There are reports about various clubs from Italy, the Netherlands, Portugal and other European leagues who are keen on joining (but no official statements from the clubs).

Why could Barça and Real Madrid receive €1 billion?

I believe this has not been confirmed by A22, but it has been reported by various newspapers. They would receive €1 billion as a reward for their loyalty, as they are the only two clubs who remained firm on their decision to take part in the Super League. That would obviously only happen if they find enough teams to set up the ESL.

[louistomlinsoncouk]

It was not his first time in Spain, far from it. However, it was the first time that Louis Tomlinson gave a concert at the emblematic Wizink Center in Madrid, and also alone. The Briton visited the capital in what was the second event – ​​of a total of three – scheduled by our country (after Bilbao and before Barcelona) to present his second studio album with his world tour Faith In The Future World Tour.

The surroundings of the venue presented a lot of agitation and movement. Long lines formed to buy the merchandising, while other groups of friends immortalized the moment on Avenida de Felipe II before validating their tickets and crossing the doors towards the track or their seat on the track. Many dared to follow a non-imposed dress code with red clothing, in honor of the aesthetics of their second album.

Once inside, the excitement and desire to see their favorite artist multiplied as the minutes passed and the songs of the two opening acts that opened the show: The Academic and The Lathums. Now, the people who were already filling the space enjoyed and gave themselves to these two bands, applauding each song they heard, who returned the affection (and the opportunity to play before an international audience) giving the best of themselves).

After these two performances, nervousness began to be felt in the atmosphere. It was after nine at night when the Wizink Center finished filling up to capacity, despite not hanging the sold out sign. It should be remembered that the last time Louis Tomlinson was in Spain he did so in 2020 – just a few days before a global health emergency was declared due to the COVID-19 pandemic – at La Riviera, with a capacity of just over 2,500. Therefore, multiplying attendance capacity tenfold in two years is quite a feat (even coming from a former member of the successful boyband One Direction).

Minutes later, the premises plunged into darkness to give way to shouting that rose to the ceiling of the building. Tomlinson's band appeared on stage first and, finally, the one from Doncaster made his way to the center of the stage to start his show to the rhythm of The Greatest. The lighting was dyed red to continue with Kill My Mind, Bigger than me, Holding on to Heartache and Face the music.

With this first block of songs, one thing stood out above all else: the noise became thunderous. In the best of the senses. The choruses of the audience could be heard, on some occasions, even above the artist's voice, proof that everyone who came there was willing to give up their last breath. And we don't know if it was because of singing from the depths of his gut, because of the heat, or because of a surge in blood pressure, but the fainting occurred throughout the two hours that the concert lasted. Fortunately, the emergency services always acted as quickly as possible thanks to the help of mobile phone flashes.

"Madrid, Spain. Thank you so much to each and every one of you for coming. This is my favorite part of my job," Louis said on a night when he wasn't particularly talkative. He himself was honest and admitted to being "especially exhausted." However, the love and the "incredible" welcome from his fans in the capital undoubtedly gave him enough "adrenaline" to go out through the big door.

A constant reminder of your past

The setlist included, along with small bursts of pyrotechnics, We made it, Paradise, Chicago, High in California and Written all over your face. Tracks from a very Britpop second album that is reminiscent of the pop/rock of the 90s and 2000s, and the sound of bands like Blur, Oasis or Arctic Monkeys, with whom Tomlinson grew up (and has reflected their influence on Out of my system or Copy of the copy of the copy or the rocker version of Back to you).

What's more, the 31-year-old performed a cover of 505 by the group led by Alex Turner. And, of course, he gave away two versions of the discography that saw him born and grow musically. He performed Night Changes and Where do Brokens Hearts Go, by One Direction. Melancholy made an appearance here, but also with Angels Fly.

When it was time for All This Time, Louis even sat on the stage twice, as if wanting to capture that moment to engrave it in his memory. Rainbow colors were projected across the Wizink during She's Beauty We are World Class, blending in with all the LGBTI flags that were flown.

It is surprising that he is the former member of the boyband with the fewest monthly listeners on streaming platforms, when the madness he unleashes wherever he goes is impressive (you just have to remember his last visit to La Resistencia). So, maybe it's not so much about quantity (or numbers), but about quality. And his fans have given him the opportunity to do what he really wants, and he has given his fans the creation of a movement where there is only room for affection, unconditional support and hope.

Tonight, Louis Tomlinson will be at the Palau Sant Jordi Barcelona.

[louisupdates]

Cabe recordar que la última vez que Louis Tomlinson estuvo en España lo hizo en 2020 —tan solo unos días previos a declararse una emergencia sanitaria a nivel mundial por la pandemia de COVID-19— en La Riviera, con un aforo de poco más de 2.500. Por tanto, multiplicar por diez en dos años la capacidad de asistencia es todo una hazaña.

[It is worth remembering that the last time Louis Tomlinson was in Spain he did so in 2020 – just a few days before a global health emergency was declared due to the COVID-19 pandemic – in La Riviera, with a capacity of just over 2,500. Therefore, multiplying attendance capacity tenfold in two years is quite a feat.]

- Louis Tomlinson desata la locura y nos llena de esperanza en su primer Wizink Center de Madrid, Los40 [6.10.2023]

[eopederson]

Escultura de Miguel Cervantes de Saavedra, Plaza España, Madrid, 2016.

Shakespeare family coat of arms, Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington, DC, 2020. (Taken a few weeks before COVID-19 and closure for reconstruction of the library rendered it inaccessible.)

Both Cervantes and Shakespeare died on 22 April 1616.

[theshowliveontour]

Niall Horan, who has been traveling through Europe for just over a month with the first leg of his world tour , presented The Show: Live On Tour last night at the Wizink Center in Madrid . The last time he set foot in the capital of Spain was in 2018, with the Flicker World Tour. On that occasion, La Riviera hosted the Irishman's concert; a room of 2,000 people that was nothing like the more than 80,000 (in Wembley, for example) that he was able to gather during his time in One Direction.

It is also true that, six years ago, Niall took his first steps alone. He had to not so much start from scratch, but rather be cautious, tread carefully and test the waters. Build his own identity apart from the boyband that had given him everything (without forgetting his origins).

His good work led him to publish a second studio album Heartbreak Weather, whose concert series – under the name Nice To Meet Ya Tour – was suspended due to Covid-19. Fortunately, the pandemic passed and the singer continued making music... until publishing The Show , his most recent album.

And with said album, the artist returned yesterday, March 23, to a large venue and, of course, to meet again with the fans of our country, specifically, close to 17,000. With the lineup sold out for several months, Niall took to the stage to show that he is made to be a frontman and exude talent, sense of humor and charisma.

After having Tommy Lefroy as the opening act , the indie rock duo formed by Tessa Mouzourakis and Wyntel Bethel, it was the turn of THE SHOW in capital letters. An interlude composed of classics by Fleetwood Mac, Queen, ABBA (and even La Macarena by Los del Río) gave a clue about the musical theater setting of the 70s that had been chosen for this tour, as well as livened up the wait until nine at night, the time when the lights went out to raise the imposing beige curtain that occupied most of the stage.

The screens on the sides introduced the leader and his band, as well as welcoming the audience, who immediately expressed their enthusiasm with shouts and flashes . "Buenas noche, Madrid" gave rise to Nice to meet now, a song that started a two and a half hour long performance. They followed a mashup of Small talk with a version of Edge of seventeen , by Stevie Nicks; She's on the loose and On a night like tonight.

After these four songs, Niall greeted his audience: "Hello, Madrid. Welcome to The Show live on Tour, baby. Thank you for selling out at this venue . Are you ready to have the best fucking night of your lives? Come on, Spain! " he exclaimed. Next, he sat down at the piano to perform the song titled from his third album, The Show.

The rhythm, interrupted by the native language

Since We're Alone, Heartbreak Weather and Black and White heated up the atmosphere enough to delay for a few minutes the acoustic block that Mullingar had prepared. The singer and three of his musicians formed a circle on the catwalk that brought him a little closer to the fans in the front rows - a privileged position that some had achieved by sacrificing four nights spending the night at the doors of Wizink - to sing Science , This Town and You could start a Cult.

However, the constant cheers and ovations he received prevented for a moment from transforming the hectic atmosphere of that space into a calmer one . "Tranquilo, tranquilo," the host said in perfect Spanish. Some words that only provoked more applause and the unison chorus of a compliment that he still didn't know... until now. Despite being a great fan of our language, Niall was not familiar with the word "guapo" and, when he discovered what it means, he wanted to return the compliment. "You guys are beautiful [...] And you are very good singers," he said in English.

This would not be the only moment in which the normal rhythm of the concert would be interrupted. Horan's eyes fell on a banner, which said: "We sing you La Macarena and you dance ." And as an idol he owes himself to his audience, said and done. The young man dared to cross his arms and move his hips three times in a row, to the madness and amusement of those present.

The 'One Direction infection' is still valid

Songs like Heaven, Everywhere, Paper Houses, Meltdown, Still, Save My Life and Slow Hands —as a final culmination—completed the setlist, which differed in a couple of songs compared to the previous date in Assago (Italy), so just two days before. Before playing Mirrors , Niall revealed that he composed it in 2016 when he saw a girl crying in a cafe while on the phone. "Many times we are so busy with ourselves that we do not realize the lives that pass us by, nor what can happen to them ," he said, so it occurred to him to invent a story with this situation as the protagonist.

And, despite the fact that that year was the same year in which One Direction made their separation effective (after the publication of Made in the AM ), the truth is that the British boyband is still alive, very alive. Horan not only remembered the last time he set foot in Spain with the formation with which he achieved global stardom, "the Vicente Calderón stadium, in 2014", he also wanted to thank the loyalty and affection received after all these years . "You are incredible. Thank you for coming to see me. That this is my job will never cease to surprise me, and I will never get tired of giving concerts. I hope to continue doing it for a long time," he reiterated several times, visibly excited.

For this reason, he did not hesitate to perform Night Changes, an anthem not only for the directioners or for Niall, but also for Louis and Harry, who have also included it in their respective concerts. Nor did he hesitate to print his name on a T-shirt for the merchandising of Take Me Home , the second album whose cover shows the five members surrounding and climbing a London telephone booth. "Of course I'll sign it for you," she said, and madness broke out in the room.

[motsimages]

Jóvenes, sobre todo si vivís en Madrid, volved a poneros la mascarilla, que está la cosa a tope otra vez.

[covid-safer-hotties]

MPXV and SARS-CoV-2 in the air of nightclubs in Spain - Published March 24, 2023

The COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted the relevance of airborne transmission of respiratory viruses.1 The risk of airborne SARS-CoV-2 exposure in public indoor spaces, in addition to hospitals, has been debated but experimental evidence is scarce.2 The mpox (formerly known as monkeypox) outbreak, a WHO Public Health Emergency of International Concern, primarily affects men who have sex with men (MSM). Monkeypox virus (MPXV) transmits by contact with skin lesions, fomites, and respiratory secretions,3 but detection of MPXV DNA in hospital air samples opens the possibility of alternative transmission routes.

We monitored SARS-CoV-2 and MPXV genomes in the air in six bar areas and one dark room (sex room) in Madrid nightclubs frequently visited by MSM during four weekend days in 2022 (July 8, July 16, Aug 8, and Nov 5). To sample aerosols, air samples were collected in nanofibre filters3 located behind the club bar or in a central location of the dark room away from customers (>2 m distance), and viral genomes were detected by quantitative PCR.

All air samples from July were positive for SARS-CoV-2, with 12 (86%) of 14 samples containing more than 50 genomes per m3, and three samples even reaching more than 1000 genomes per m3. These findings were consistent with epidemiological data that showed a high prevalence of COVID-19 among people older than 60 years in Spain at the time. All except one of the air samples from August and November were negative for SARS-CoV-2. On July 8, which coincided with the gay pride parade in Madrid, MPXV DNA was undetectable in the air, with the exception of one sample, and on July 16, it was detected in two samples. MPXV in the air had increased considerably on Aug 8, with four (57%) of seven positive samples containing more than 100 genomes per m3, or even more than 1000 genomes per m3 in one case; this date coincided with the peak incidence of mpox in Spain. High viral loads in the air were detected in the dark room but also in bar areas, sometimes even at higher concentrations. MPXV was undetectable in November. Carbon dioxide concentrations were very high in all nightclubs, indicating poor ventilation and a high risk of airborne transmission.

To our knowledge, this is the first evidence of airborne SARS-CoV-2 and MPXV in nightclubs. Aerial virus monitoring corresponded with epidemiological incidence, indicating that it is a reliable tool to evaluate environmental risks of infection. MPXV was previously detected in the air of health centre consulting rooms,4 and we showed high virus levels in the air of indoor public spaces, presumably exhaled from people who were infected with MPXV. This finding suggests that MPXV exposure occurs beyond skin or sexual contact, and future studies to address airborne monkeypox virus transmission are warranted. If COVID-19 or mpox cases rise in the future, people attending mass events or indoor public entertainment venues should be made aware of the risk of airborne exposure to these viruses.

[realmadridfamily]

“I was in the hotel after the national team match (Belgium 2-0 England) and a photo of Mishel with a dog popped up on Instagram. I only watch profiles that I follow and I didn't know her but she suddenly popped up. I thought it was a very sweet photo and commented, "Cuties" not intending for her to respond to me. But it worked." - recalls Thibaut Courtois. It was November 2020, in the middle of the global crisis caused by the Covid-19 pandemic, and no one, not even themselves, expected that this whim of fate would turn them into the heroes of a love story. «I saw the message and thought, “Okay, fine. – I will answer you. And I wrote : "Thank you." He immediately asked me how my day was, how everything was going, and I thought: "This guy is cute." - explains model Mishel Gerzig.

From that evening on, they started talking non-stop. Every day. Until almost six months later, in April 2021, they saw each other for the first time in Madrid. “And we never parted again.” she says, stroking his hand, and the bouncer smiles knowingly in response. This is the first joint session after the wedding, which took place last July in a fairy-tale castle on the French Riviera, and after a serious knee injury that has kept Tibo off the pitch since August. During the session, they share confidences, smile, hug and kiss between photos... They are in a state of absolute happiness that cannot be hidden.

ELLE : Your relationship started long distance, but what was it like the first time you met in person?

THIBAUT: It was in Barajas, at the airport. You could fly to Spain from France, so she first flew from Israel to Paris and from there to Madrid. Right after landing, she told me that she had a problem with her passport and that they wouldn't let her into the country. It was a joke, but I was shocked and started thinking about how I could solve it. I couldn't believe it, I felt terrible.

MISHEL: (laugh). I thought of this joke to break the ice because I was very nervous when I saw him.

T: She was traveling with her best friend and they spent the night at my house. But we slept separately! (laugh). We had been talking on FaceTime all the time for months, we knew each other very well, but we needed to meet in person. We didn't plan much. We went for lunch, dinner, walked, talked for hours... I tried to get a friend to accompany me to training or a match. In fact, Mishel sometimes visited Di Stéfano, where we were playing at the time. And everything came out naturally, it worked. She brought a suitcase for two weeks because she had the idea to go to Amsterdam to work and then she never left (laugh).

M: That's true! The pandemic started and I was in Israel. When I had the opportunity to travel, I wanted to resume modeling, but my plans changed (laughter). I planned to stay here for two weeks, but I stayed much longer. That's because we had so much fun together. We already knew that we understood each other well remotely, but we tested each other in person and our relationship was even stronger.

E: So much so that you quickly became engaged.

T: And I wanted it to be even earlier (laugh). In January 2022, I went to buy a ring with a friend and thought: "I want one too." We had only been together for a few months, but I knew Mishel was the love of my life. I decided to wait until June to do it in a unique way. She loves the sea, so I found the right moment, improvised during a trip to Positano and asked her. We didn't want to wait so long to get married, but due to the World Cup and other commitments with Real Madrid and the Belgian national team, it was difficult to find an earlier date.

E: Thibaut is an international football star. Did you feel dizzy when you entered his world?

M: At first, yes. I thought about how I would cope. Tibo attracts a lot of attention and generates a lot of noise, but I slowly got used to it. It's beautiful to see all the love it awakens in people.

E: Shortly after the wedding, an injury occurred. How did you survive it?

T: The first day was difficult. I wrote to Mishel: "I think I broke my knee in training."

M: I quickly took the car and drove to Valdebebas.

T: We went for an MRI, which quickly showed that I had a serious injury. I was still inside and they had already told Mishel and the physio what happened. When I came out, I cried, but then I felt people's support and I started thinking positively. You can't go back. Mishel helped me a lot, especially in the first month when I was limping and could barely move. Now I'm working hard to come back as soon as possible and be 100% healthy.

E: How did this situation change your daily life?

T: Now I spend more hours training, but I also have more flexibility when it comes to being with my children and Mishel. The good thing is that they adore her, so we spend a lot of time together. The injury made me look at everything from a different perspective. I love football and I miss it, but there are other things I love and want to do. This year I'm going to start my Master's in Sports Management and hope to graduate. We also have several businesses (he invested in the production of plant milk, in Neat Burger, vegan burgers, in which Leonardo DiCaprio and Lewis Hamilton are also partners; he has a Formula 4 team, TC Racing, and Mishel is preparing to open a beauty salon in Madrid), it is worth develop mentally and learn new things. We are both curious and excited.

M: I'm lucky that in my job I can move deadlines freely. Previously, I did it to be with him at important matches and support him. When he got injured, I changed my schedule to spend more time at home to help him. And now, when I feel much better, I have gone to work in the United States. For me, balance is the most important thing because I want to do both, have time for work, but also for my personal and family life.

E: Speaking of family, your Mishel lives in Israel. How do you deal with what's going on there?

M: All people who were born there have been up to date with the current conflict throughout their lives. It's not that you get used to it, but you grow up having it in your everyday life. I served in the military for two years, so I know this up close. It's very painful to see what point this has gotten to. My family and friends are seeing and hearing terrible things as we all know people who have been killed or injured.

T: When I was a child and saw this conflict on TV, I didn't understand anything. This is a delicate and complicated issue for those of us who are neither Palestinian nor Israeli. Now I have family and friends there, so I experience it more closely, but I am Belgian. I show my support and respect every opinion, as long as it is expressed in a polite manner. We are all human and no one wants innocent people to die. This is the most important. But now there is a lot of hate, especially online, there is a lot of division and it is very difficult. These are things that cannot be allowed because we all want peace.

M: I have been living with this confrontation for 26 years, but I want to be positive and believe that peace will come and that all innocent people will be safe.

E: How did your careers start?

M: I started when I was 13, participating in a beauty pageant in Tel Aviv. At the age of 16, I worked outside Israel for the first time, on shows and campaigns in Milan and Miami.

T: I have been playing football since I was a child. At the age of 16, I was lucky enough to join Genk, one of the best teams in Belgium. When I was 18, we won the league and that made me grow. Chelsea signed a contract with me and loaned me to Atlético Madrid. I didn't speak Spanish, but I felt it was time to leave, even though almost no one around me was supportive. The first weeks were difficult, but I immediately felt the warmth of the people. The crowd and the team welcomed me very warmly and that made me fall in love with Madrid and Spain. When I had to go to England, it was very difficult for me to adapt because I missed Madrid. That's why I was happy to come back in 2018.

E: First you were at Atléti and now at Real Madrid. Do you think people understand this?

T: I know this is hard to understand for someone who loves Atléti. For the three years I played there, I gave everything I had to win. But I'm an athlete, it's my profession and I have to improve and fulfill my dreams by making bold decisions. Of course, I respect my past and never forget about it.

E: What are your plans for the future?

T: Growing the family, that's the first. And helping people, and that's the most important thing to both of us. To come back well after the injury and be in the best shape. Develop businesses and continue to enjoy life together in Madrid, with family and five dogs. I love sports and will always be involved in it, but when I retire, I see myself coaching youth teams rather than senior teams. It's too much pressure and too much time away from home. I think Mishel would throw me out of it (laugh).

[dweemeister]

Robot Dreams (2023, Spain/France)

There exists an assumption that one has to be an animator in order to direct an animated film. While most cinephiles might reflexively point to Wes Anderson (2009’s Fantastic Mr. Fox, 2018’s Isle of Dogs), I think Isao Takahata (1988’s Grave of the Fireflies, 1991’s Only Yesterday) the exemplar here. Even so, a non-animator taking the reins of an animated movie is rare. Into that fold steps Pablo Berger, in this adaptation of Sara Varon’s graphic novel Robot Dreams. Moved after reading Varon’s work in 2010, Berger acquired Varon’s “carte blanche” permission to make a 2D animated adaptation however he saw fit. Like the graphic novel, Berger’s Robot Dreams is also dialogue-free.

Beginning production on Robot Dreams proved difficult. Berger originally teamed with Ireland’s Cartoon Saloon (2009’s The Secret of Kells, 2020’s Wolfwalkers) to make Robot Dreams, but these plans fell wayside when the COVID-19 pandemic hit. His schooling in how to make an animated film would come quickly. Despite an increased appetite for Spanish animation worldwide (2019’s Klaus, 2022’s Unicorn Wars), poor distribution and marketing of domestically-made animated movies has often meant Spanish animators have roved around Europe looking for work. With a pandemic sending those Spanish animators home, Berger and his Spanish and French producers set up “pop-up studios” in Madrid and Pamplona, purchased the infrastructure and space needed to make an animated feature, and recruited and hired animators. Berger’s admiration of animated film fuses the lessons of silent film acting (Berger made a gorgeous silent film in 2012’s Blancanieves; in interviews, Berger cites Charlie Chaplin’s movies as having the largest influence on Robot Dreams, alongside Takahata’s films) to result in one of the most emotionally honest films of the decade thus far – animated or otherwise.

Somewhere in Manhattan in the late 1980s in a world populated entirely of anthropomorphized animals, we find ourselves in Dog’s apartment. Dog, alone in this world, consuming yet another TV dinner, is channel surfing late one evening. He stumbles upon a commercial advertising a robot companion. Intrigued, he orders the robot companion and, with some difficulty, assembles Robot. The two become fast friends as they romp about New York City over a balmy summer, complete with walks around their neighborhood and Central Park, street food, trips to Coney Island, and roller blading along to the groovy tunes of Earth, Wind & Fire. At summer’s end, an accident sees the involuntary separation of Dog and Robot, endangering, for all that the viewer can assume, the most meaningful friendship in Dog’s life and Robot’s brief time of existence.

If you have not seen the film yet, let me address a popular perception early on in this piece. Set in a mostly-analog 1980s, Robot Dreams contains none of the agonizing over artificial intelligence or automatons in fashion in modern cinema. There is no commentary about how technology frays an individual’s connections to others. Robot is a rudimentary creation, closer to a sentient grade school science project than a Data or T-1000.

So what is Robot Dreams saying instead? Principally, it is about the loving bonds of friendship – how a friend can provide comfort and company, how they uplift the best parts of your very being. For Robot, the entirety of their life prior to the aforementioned accident (something that I, for non-viewers, am trying not to spoil as Robot Dreams’ emotional power is fully experienced if you know as little as possible) has been one of complete estival bliss. Robot, in due time, discovers that one of the most meaningful aspects of friendship is that such relationships will eventually conclude – a fundamental part of life. And for Dog, Robot’s entrance into his life allows him to realize that, yes, he can summon the courage to connect with his fellow animals, realizing his self-worth. Perhaps Dog gives up addressing the accident a little too easily, but the separation of friends has a way of complicating emotions and provoking peculiar reactions.

On occasion, Robot Dreams’ spirit reminds me of Charlie Chaplin’s silent feature film period (1921-1936) – in which Chaplin, at the height of his filmmaking prowess, most successfully wove together slapstick comedy and pathos. On paper, pathos and slapstick should not mix, but Chaplin was the master of combining the two. No wonder Berger fully acknowledges the influence of his favorite Chaplin work, City Lights (1931), here.

Across Robot Dreams, Berger inserts an absurd visual humor that works both because almost all of the characters are animals and despite the fact almost everyone is an animal. A busking octopus in the New York City subway? Check. The image of pigs playing on the beach while sunburnt to a blazing red? You bet. A dancing dream sequence where one of our lead characters finds himself in The Wizard of Oz performing Busby Berkeley-esque choreography on the Yellow Brick Road? Why not? Much of Chaplin’s silent film humor didn’t come from his Little Tramp character, but the silliness, ego, and/or absentmindedness of all those surrounding the Tramp. In City Lights, humor also came from the rough-and-tumble edges of urban America. Such is the case, too, in Robot Dreams, with its blemished, trash-strewn depiction of late ‘80s New York (credit must also go to the sound mix, as they perfectly capture how ambiently noisy a big city can be).

Amid all that comedy, Berger nails the balance between the pathos and the hilarity – pushing too far in either direction would easily undermine the other. The film’s melancholy shows up in ostensibly happy moments and places of recreation: a realization during a rooftop barbeque lunch, the emptiness of a shuttered Coney Island beach in the winter, and an afternoon of kiting in Central Park. It captures how our thoughts of erstwhile or involuntarily separated friends come to us innocuously, in places that stir memories that we might, in our present company, might not speak of aloud.

As the film’s third character, New York City (where Berger lived for a decade) is a global cultural capital, a citywide theater of dreams, a skyscraper-filled signature to the American Dream. To paraphrase Sinatra, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. But it tends to grind those dreams into dust. The city’s bureaucratic quagmire is lampooned here, as is its reputation for mean-spirited or jaded locals. Robot Dreams also depicts the visual and socioeconomic differences between the city’s boroughs. With such a jumble of folks of different life stations mashed together, Dog’s people-watching, er, animal-watching during his loneliest moments makes him feel the full intensity of his social isolation. With Robot, however, Dog has a naïve companion that he can show the best of the city to. Robot has no understanding of passive-aggressive or outright hostile behavior (see: Robot hilariously not understanding what a middle finger salute is – the only objectionable scene if you are considering showing this to younger viewers). Within this city of contradictions, Dog and Robot’s love is here to stay.

Though he is no animator, his experience in guiding Spanish actresses Ángela Molina, Maribel Verdú, and Macarena García in Blancanieves through a silent film was valuable. In animated film, there is a tendency towards overexaggerating emotions. But with Robot Dreams’ close adaptation of the graphic novel’s ligne claire style and the nature of Robot’s face, the typical level of exaggeration in animation could not fly in Robot Dreams. Berger and storyboard artist Maca Gil (2022’s My Father’s Dragon, the 2023 Peanuts special One-of-a-Kind Marcie) made few alterations to the storyboards, fully knowing how they wished to frame the film, and hoping to convey the film’s emotions with the facial subtlety seen in the graphic novel. Character designer Daniel Fernandez Casas (Klaus, 2024’s IF) accomplishes this with a minimum of lines to outline characters’ bodies and faces. Meanwhile, art director José Luis Ágreda (2018’s Buñuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles) and animation director Benoît Féroumont (primarily a graphic novelist) visually translated Sara Varon’s graphic novel using flat colors and a lack of shading to convey background and character depth (one still needs shading, of course, to convey lights and darks of an interior or exterior).

Robot Dreams’ nomination for the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature this year was one of the most pleasant surprises of the 96th Academy Awards. In North America, Robot Dreams’ distributor, Neon, has pursued an inexplicable distribution and marketing strategy of not allowing the film a true theatrical release until months after the end of the last Oscars. The film was available for a one-night special screening in select theaters in and near major North American cities the Wednesday before the Academy Awards. And only now (as of the weekend of May 31, 2024), Neon will release Robot Dreams this weekend in two New York City theaters, the following weekend in and around Los Angeles, with few other locations confirmed – well after interest to watch the film theatrically piqued in North America.

Alongside Neon’s near-nonexistent distribution and marketing of Jonas Poher Rasmussen's animated documentary Flee (2021, Denmark), one has to question Neon’s commitment to animated features and whether the company has a genuine interest in showing their animated acquisitions to people outside major North American cities. This is distributional malpractice and maddeningly disrespectful from one of the most acclaimed independent distributors of the last decade.

In Robot Dreams, Pablo Berger and his crew made perhaps the best animated feature of the previous calendar year. Robot Dreams might not have the artistic sumptuousness of the best anime films today, nor the digital polish one expects from the work of a major American animation studio. By film’s end, its simple, accessible style cannot hide its irrepressible emotional power. Its conclusion speaks to all of us who silently wonder about close friends long left to the past, their absence filled only by memory.

My rating: 8.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[mariacallous]

Is the Cuban government on the verge of collapse? Has the moment that Washington has waited for, hoped for, and worked toward for 65 years finally arrived? Some U.S. officials seem to think so. But so eager are they to see the dream of regime change finally come true that they underestimate the Cuban regime’s resilience, skewing U.S. policy to the detriment of the Cuban people that they purport to support.

At a recent conference in Madrid, Brian Nichols—the assistant secretary of state for Western Hemisphere affairs—gave a glimpse into how the Biden administration views Cuba’s current crisis. “Cuba is at a key moment,” he said, referring to recent protests over shortages of food and electricity in Santiago, the symbolic birthplace of Cuban revolutions. “And the solution is democracy.”

In a similar vein, U.S. President Joe Biden previously called Cuba a “failed state” following an unprecedented spate of nationwide protests that began on July 11, 2021. In normal usage, a failed state is one that has lost the capacity to govern its national territory. Haiti is a failed state; Cuba is certainly not. Nevertheless, the possibility that the protests marked the onset of a “people’s power” revolution caused Biden to freeze plans for relaxing some of former President Donald Trump’s draconian economic sanctions.

“After July 11, we hit the pause button,” said Juan Gonzalez, Biden’s National Security Council advisor for Latin America, in an interview with NBC.

Cuba was not a failed state in 2021, nor is it now—but its economy is failing under the combined weight of U.S. sanctions, misguided government policies, and the aftereffects of the COVID-19 pandemic. Trump’s policy of “maximum pressure” was designed to starve the economy of foreign exchange currency by curtailing travel, limiting remittances, impeding energy supplies, and coercing other countries into canceling medical services contracts with Cuba.

Just as these sanctions were taking effect, COVID-19 closed the tourist industry, the centerpiece of the Cuban economy, resulting in a loss of as much as $3 billion annually. When Trump blocked the wire service transfers of remittances and the pandemic prevented Cuban Americans from hand-carrying cash to help their families, annual remittances fell from more than $3 billion to just $1.9 billion in 2021. All in all, foreign exchange earnings dropped by some 40 percent.

With the economy under this severe stress, the government decided to undertake a long awaited currency and exchange rate reform that was poorly implemented, touching off runaway inflation that has eroded the real purchasing power of the Cuban peso by as much as 90 percent in certain informal markets.

As a result, Cubans are suffering critical shortages of basic necessities—food, fuel, and medicine. Electrical blackouts lasting half a day are common. Life has become so hard that more than 5 percent of the population has emigrated over the past two years, exacerbating the migration problem on the U.S. southern border.

On top of the economic crisis, Cuba’s leaders face unprecedented political challenges. Fidel Castro, whose prestige and charisma held the regime together through past hardships, is gone. His brother Raúl and the rest of the “historic generation” that brought about the revolution have stepped back from the helm, and their successors lack the credibility of the founders. The internet, and especially social media, have awakened Cuban civil society, confronting leaders with demands from below that they have no experience managing. Rising inequality, produced by the very market reforms that the government introduced to stimulate the economy, is exacerbating popular frustration.

The depth of people’s desperation and discontent is why some U.S. officials think the denouement of the Cuba regime may finally be at hand. U.S. analysts made that same mistake in the early 1990s, when the Cuban economy suffered a similar meltdown after the collapse of the Soviet Union. In 1993, a CIA National Intelligence Estimate predicted “a better than even chance” of regime collapse “within the next few years.”

In fact, official Washington has been predicting the Cuban regime’s imminent demise ever since 1959, when the Eisenhower administration expected to overthrow Fidel Castro’s revolutionary government before leaving office. When U.S. Ambassador to Cuba Philip Bonsal proposed offering Castro an olive branch to counter the rising influence of the Soviet Union, Assistant Secretary for Inter-American Affairs Thomas Mann replied, “Our best bet is to wait for a successor regime.” Subsequent U.S. administrations thought the Cuban regime would be toppled by exile paramilitary attacks, a comprehensive economic embargo, the collapse of the Soviet Union, and, finally, Castro’s death.

These predictions have been consistently wrong because they focused on the Cuban government’s vulnerabilities, neglecting its sources of resilience. First, despite widespread and deep popular discontent, there is no organized opposition able to mobilize and channel that discontent into a movement for political change. The one major attempt, in November 2021, to organize a nationwide “Civic March for Change” demanding political reform was a total failure. Today, most leading dissident activists are either in jail or in exile. The protests on July 11, 2021, and the recent ones in Santiago de Cuba were spontaneous outbursts of frustration over the hardships of everyday life, not the result of an organized opposition movement with staying power.

Second, although the Cuban political elite is clearly divided over economic policy, there is no evidence of any split over the fundamental structure of the political system. That is a critical difference from Eastern Europe in 1989. Ironically, U.S. hostility has strengthened elite unity, since Cuba’s leaders know that if they don’t hang together, they will surely hang separately.

Finally, there is no sign of disloyalty within the armed forces. On the contrary, the military enjoys exceptionally strong influence within the upper echelons of the Communist Party, and it manages key sectors of the economy. Its interests are well protected by the status quo.

With a cohesive elite, a loyal military, and no effective organized opposition, there is no plausible path to sudden regime transition in Cuba in the foreseeable future. Change will only come through evolution, not cataclysmic collapse. And regimes under siege are rarely disposed to embark on significant reforms. Former U.S. President Barack Obama recognized the futility of pursuing regime collapse, and he instead sought to engage with Cuba to shape its evolutionary change in a positive direction. But a normalization agreement reached a decade ago was quickly rolled back by the Trump administration.

Biden and his foreign-policy team are holding on to a Cuba policy inherited from Trump, built on the premise that there is no point engaging with a dead man walking. But the real zombie is U.S. policy, an “outdated approach that, for decades, has failed to advance our interests,” as Obama put it.

Even though the current U.S. approach has no prospect of producing regime change, it is impoverishing the Cuban people who Biden claims to support, deepening the humanitarian crisis on the island and accelerating uncontrolled migration—none of which serves the interests of the United States, let alone the Cuban people.

[beardedmrbean]

Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez has suspended public duties to "stop and reflect" on whether to remain in the job, after a court opened a preliminary inquiry into his wife.

In a statement, the Spanish leader said he urgently needed to decide "whether I should continue to lead the government or renounce this honour".

The court said it was responding to corruption claims against Begoña Gómez.

Mr Sánchez said he would make a decision on his future next Monday.

His wife would defend her honour and work with the judiciary, he said, to make clear there was no substance to the allegations against her.

The complaint against Begoña Gómez was raised by anti-corruption campaigners Manos Limpias (Clean Hands), who have taken part in a number of high-profile court cases in recent years and are led by a man linked to the far right called Miguel Bernad.

Manos Limpias put out a statement on Thursday signed by Mr Bernad acknowledging that its allegations might be false, because they were based on online newspaper stories: "If they are not true, it will be up to those that published them to take responsibility for the falsehood."

The Socialist prime minister said he would give a statement to the media on 29 April, after reflecting whether it was worth remaining in office "despite the mud" that the right and far right were trying to turn politics into.

In a lengthy statement on X, Mr Sánchez complained of a "strategy of harassment" over months aimed at weakening him politically and personally targeting his wife.

The court did not give details of the accusations against Begoña Gómez other than to say it had begun investigating allegations of influence peddling and corruption on 16 April.

However, the Cadena Ser website published details of the Manos Limpias complaint, which included a list of allegations culled from news websites including El Confidencial and Voz Populi.

El Confidencial reported on Wednesday that the inquiry was looking into Begoña Gómez's links to private companies that had secured government money or public contracts.

In particular, it cited a "sponsorship agreement" involving tourism group Globalia and a foundation she ran in 2020 called IE Africa Center. In 2020, Globalia secured a €475m (£407m) bailout for its airline Air Europa, as part of a series of government rescue packages for companies during the Covid-19 crisis.

The legal complaint was signed by Miguel Bernad, the head of Manos Limpias, which describes itself as a trade union and has in the past targeted politicians, bankers and King Felipe VI's sister, Princess Cristina.

Spain's conservative Popular Party (PP) demanded explanations in parliament earlier on Wednesday, to which the prime minister said simply that he believed in justice "despite everything".

Spanish media said he had left parliament for his Madrid residence visibly upset. Hours later he accused PP leader Alberto Núñez Feijóo of working with far-right party Vox to bring him down.

"I am not naive. I realise they are denouncing Begoña, not because she has done anything illegal - they know there is no case - but because she is my wife," he complained in his statement.

Political allies expressed support for Mr Sánchez, who has been in power since 2018, but his decision to suspend public duties comes at a tense time for his Socialist party ahead of European Parliament elections in June and elections in the Catalonia region of north-eastern Spain next month.

He was due to take part in a Catalan campaign launch in Barcelona on Thursday.

Pedro Sánchez leads an awkward coalition that includes two Catalan separatist parties, which were persuaded to support the government in return for an amnesty that covered a banned Catalan referendum on secession in 2017.

Without the support of the Catalan Republican Left (ERC) and Together for Catalonia (JxCat) he would not have been able to stay in power, following an inconclusive election last year.

Opposition parties were outraged by the amnesty, which also means the former Catalan regional leader Carles Puigdemont will stand in next month's regional vote, seven years after he fled imminent arrest and went into exile in Belgium.

Mr Puigdemont is still facing a terrorism case but believes the amnesty will enable him to return to Spain.

[felipeandletizia]

Letizia recycling a striped pantsuit (first two times just the jacket; fifth time just the pants) by Hugo Boss

March 27, 2020: Videoconferences at la Zarzuela

April 14, 2020: Videoconferences at la Zarzuela

April 22, 2020: Videoconferences at la Zarzuela

October 20, 2020: 4th Conference on Informative Treatment of Disabilities in Madrid

December 18, 2020: Inaugurated a monument in tribute of the health workers that lost their lives while battling the COVID-19 pandemic & Visited the “Santa Catalina de Alejandría” nursing home in Madrid.

November 19, 2021: Audiences for the World Day of Remembrance for Road Traffic Victims & with a representation of the Association for the Prevention, Reintegration and Care of Prostituted Women

January 12, 2022: Work meeting at FEDER

October 16, 2022: Official farewell ceremony ahead of a State Visit to Germany

November 21, 2022: 30th meeting of the delegate commission of the Princess of Girona Foundation

Letizia Recycling 682/??