Croquettas

Upon arrival in Madrid we came from below ground. We arrived in the middle of a plaza with a statue of a huge bear. We then immediately noticed the policia. We'd surely noticed them in Barcelona but their presence was heavier in Madrid. In this particular square they roved in vehicles with their hairy forearms hanging out the windows. Spain's cops are pretty damn sexy without even trying. They all seem to be these late 30's early 40's salt & pepper haired, blue eyed beasts with long thighs and intense machismo. We soon sought them out choosing which one to marry and or have babies with. When we had our first dinner outing we strolled in and out of their range. They equally roved by us driving slowly between the shops and restaurants. 

We soon noticed that particular square, Puerta del Sol is a mainstay for hot men. However, these hot men were all gay. We constantly zeroed in on a guy only to watch him meet up with another guy or circle with a group of flamboyant men. There were always couples and unique trios just in and around the shopping district. There were also a lot of girls. Young, scantily clad girls holding up palm trees with exotic stances. We finally concluded that the bear statue was a gathering spot for gay men. We also concluded the palm trees weren't for decoration but landmarks for prostitution. The main street holding it all together with H&M's and Desigual's held all the freaks. We turned one corner and were faced with a man in feathers, a vest and nude leggings with no "panties". We then turned to find a mirage of friendly businesses wherein all men - every single one of them - was gay. Meanwhile, the policia patrolled greeting these ladies and men of the night as if all were glitter and rainbows.

We decided that there were no straight civilian men of any kind in Madrid. We had come to a place where women could only lust after police officers. I'd watched many a Almodovar film but I thought he was exaggerating. In actuality, Madrid was no place for man-starved women. We finally decided on a place to eat where the croquettes were inspired and at a tapas price. There we noshed on curry chicken and apple ones and salt fish ones. They were also shaped like hushpuppies or balls versus the phallic sticks I would eat in Miami. They gave us so many I was able to take some home and eat them cold with our cava. We came back to our laundry and vibrant flat one hosted by yet another gay and taken man. We drank the entire bottle of cava and I ate every single ball.