Wednesday, February 22, 2012


I am a bull, after all. Cornered, sometimes. Killing, sometimes. Sometimes killed. I am a patriot. Taste of grain and blood and dirt. Breathing in the dusty Spanish air, el aire de España. Exhaling sulfur, charcoal, potassium nitrate. Viva España. Viva el toro. There is a war, a tauromaquia, and there is an enemy, torero. After all, I am a bull.