Beja.

A battled against the sinking mud,

But I didn't fight. Slowing to a gentle, yet ploughing/sucking, pace as I reached the (disused) railway lines.

Skirting Beja to the east and carrying the mud of (olive) war everywhere.

Beja vu...

Déjà vu.

Don't I know this bar from before?

I tried to stop, but I was called.

A shower and a Saturday.

A Prancinho and a Super Bock Preta.

No, I've never been here before.

But similar (somewhere) - I stumbled into - on another Way in another Time. A bit middle class hipster-ish, but it's not Portuguese?

It's alright as I am being torn apart by

New Wave and a lady in butterfly wings.

Her son a stoned wizard, but not a

True star. Polkadot stepple- hat: Reprehensible! 1979 is a broken glass

Heart, which is still amongst them?

***

Gosh I am tired as a man converts himself. A man becomes a sheikh.

Another time was in Palma Mallorca. But I was only there for a coffee and cake as it closed. Middle class and simply out of sight? I am a working(less) hero.

I am a whole day ahead of my "schedule" so tomorrow I can reach Cuba (pronounced 'Cuba' Gooding).

Smoke a blunt or a puro and head to Seville to escape Iberia before the school holiday drops like bad acid on amongst strangers?

Six Super Bock 20cl beers (or was it seven) and 6 super broa. Now I am horizontal and ready for a broken night just off the Praça da Republica on a Saturday evening ... Good night Vienna?