El hostal

I left my (Steven's) suitcase at the hostal office. At 930a. The room wouldn't be ready until Noon. To kill time, I walked around the Puerta del Sol taking photos; then, I walked into a cafe for breakfast: a bocadilla con tortilla (a potato, egg, and tomato mixture inside a baguette) and coffee. Also, I "met" American university students ordering their coffee in English. Finally, 45 more minutes before Noon, I went into El Corte Inglés and bought a book by José Saramago.

Back in the vestibule outside the hostal office. I hope for the love of something that I can register now. My feet hurt. I cannot think in either language (mis habilidades de hablar habían volado). I want a shower and a nap. The order is unimportant.