The Golden Visit
The market square of Torremolinos moved with the heavy, rhythmic churn of commerce, a sea of wool and bronze where the air hung heavy with heated metal and unwashed bodies, and I stood at the edge of the crowd, my fingers stained with the residue of mercury and gold, watching the sun strike the salt pans that mirrored the sky in a blinding, white sheet. I am Jose Herrera, and I am the only man...
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