George Perec says in his book Species of spaceswhich neighbourhood is actually a rather amorphous concept. And I immediately think of the Raval as the best example of this sentence. One day in the Raval, the usual people cross paths with the newcomers, the pink Englishmen with watered-down sangria and the Swedish women, also pink, allergic to sunscreen. The shopkeepers, the dairy, the "todo a cien", the tobacconist who opens on Sundays, like all the pakis in the area (Oh the pakis, if it weren't for them, we would be forced to involuntarily fast on more than one Sunday...). Anyway, as the poet says, one day in the Raval "he sees the splendour of a woman with a flag next to the fierce mane of a decadent old woman dozing on the pavement".
