New Year came and went. As we prepared to go south, Lisa returned with news that she had been sacked. Kane had phoned her at home in England to tell her not to bother coming back. Of course, she had left all her stuff behind in Vigo and had to return, via Madrid, to collect it.
Lisa accompanied us to the bus station. We sat in the cafe surrounded by half a dozen cases and bags. Lisa was drinking her trademark glass of red wine while an old man ranted on about his civil war experiences. I hoped that one day Lisa would no longer be at war with herself. I was as restless as they come and itching to get out of Vigo. A Galician piper entered the bar to give us a traditional farewell.
I used to think that stories mirrored life but maybe the opposite is true. On the bus, we watched When a Man Loves a Woman—and when that was over, an adventure came on in which Sherlock Holmes was chasing his arch-enemy up to a hotel in the city of my birth. Kane, shared a surname with Conan Doyle’s villain. To this day in Inverness, I creep past hotels with caution in case I should bump into a bespectacled Irishman.
| Copyright © | Steve Porter, 2004 |
|---|---|
By the same author  | There are no more works at Badosa.com |
| Date of publication | June 2006 |
| Collection | Global Fiction |
| Permalink | https://badosa.com/n250-15 |
I have read some poems by Steven Porter and I liked them very much. He has a big poetry knowledge and a large sensitivity to write poems. Now I'm interested in his new book The Iberian Horsehoe because I want to know his point of view about Spanish people and about my country. I would like you to publish more things by Steven Porter.
Just a note to let you know how much I dislike Steve Porter's The Iberian Horseshoe. His arrogance makes me believe he's an American in disguise. Cheers,
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