You stand alone at the Calle del Príncipe , the neon signs of the Zona Franca reflecting in puddles. A group of drunk sailors laughs outside a tasca . Somewhere, someone is playing AC/DC from an open window. This is not a sad city. It is simply a real one.
She picks up her bag. The ferry to Cangas is boarding. Or maybe a bus to Portugal. Or maybe just a taxi to Peinador Airport , from where all flights leave for nowhere you are going. despedidas en vigo
Then she walks away. Not looking back—because in Vigo, you learn early: the sea takes everything. The tide doesn't ask for permission. You stand alone at the Calle del Príncipe
You want to say something timeless. Instead, you notice a stray dog shaking itself by the Monte do Castro , and a woman selling bunuelos from a cart despite the rain. Life continues. Vigo does not stop for your tragedy. This is not a sad city
You stand alone at the Calle del Príncipe , the neon signs of the Zona Franca reflecting in puddles. A group of drunk sailors laughs outside a tasca . Somewhere, someone is playing AC/DC from an open window. This is not a sad city. It is simply a real one.
She picks up her bag. The ferry to Cangas is boarding. Or maybe a bus to Portugal. Or maybe just a taxi to Peinador Airport , from where all flights leave for nowhere you are going.
Then she walks away. Not looking back—because in Vigo, you learn early: the sea takes everything. The tide doesn't ask for permission.
You want to say something timeless. Instead, you notice a stray dog shaking itself by the Monte do Castro , and a woman selling bunuelos from a cart despite the rain. Life continues. Vigo does not stop for your tragedy.