“What are you looking at? You jerk. Hey what are you doing with your camera freak?”
says the big-clean-cut-hair-Rayban-sun-glasses-fat-guy.
I don’t know if I understand the situation; I don’t say a word. “Hey YOU” – he looks like John Goodman in The Big Lebowski movie without the tender heart: “What are you recording freak?”
I, this time, know what is going on, remember the Marvin Gaye’s song?
I doubt whether to respond him or not… “You shouldn’t”. I think to myself. “You are a journalist, shut up”. I say to myself. And the big-fat guy continues shouting at me while he turns his ridiculously small- chilli-red head towards me like a turtle.
“Damn”, I give up and say, “Why are you insulting me?”
“Oh,” big guy-big belly responds trying to mimic me “poor little guy ‘Why are you insulting me?’” and smiles sardonically.
I, old Spaniard proud pumping in my veins like red hot coal, repeat my question:
“I am working here, I am a journalist, I’m just taking pictures and sound… why you are insulting me?”
And then big-fat-empty-head-guy says: “I am using my freedom of speech”. ZAS! HIS FREEDOM OF SPEECH? WHAT? FREEDOM OF WHAT?
I just stare at him. I really don’t know what to do or say. Should I kick his balls in a wonderful exercise of my freedom of kick-the-asshole-balls? Umm… attractive idea but I should not, I have a student visa, a scholarship, I cannot… I just smile and turn.
I do understand now. You cannot really have a conversation with this kind of person: they don’t understand anything about freedom, liberties or even speech. There is a beautiful middle aged woman with clear blue eyes who comes to me and says in an incredible sweet voice: “I am so embarrassed. You are not even from this country and you are already suffering this behavior.” Gosh, I don’t know what to say either and not just because she looks very fine… she almost embraces me, and tells me she is from
I talk with Don the veteran in his wheelchair; he talks about his pain, his wounds (the ones that I can tell from the outside and the ones that are inside), his dead friend Ray, and his pretty Vietnamese wife dead in a terrorist attack in
The big white dome of the Capitol floats above our heads like a birthday cake made of cream.