Lastnight, Paul and I went for Cuban food at an amazing little place in the Chueca. Shortly after we arrived, two of the tallest, most impossibly-good-looking people EVER came in... a man and a woman. They were so tall and so perfect looking, Paul and I decided they had to be models. The guy was literally one of the most beautiful people I´ve seen in person. He was wearing a Dolce & Gabbana shirt with Huey, Dewey, and Louey on the front. They took the table in front of ours.
As if that wasn´t enough destruction, they were soon joined by more and more beautiful people. They were all smoking and drinking, and I realized in horror that my jacket, which I had hung on the wall, was now buried in supermodel jackets. I briefly considered leaving it there... passport, wallet, and all.
We had our food (I ate all my carbs, despite what I was looking at), drank our daquiris, and hung around long enough to verify that they did, in fact, eat something (and not just smoke and drink).
Oh, and later lastnight in the Eagle, I met a really nice flight attendant from the States and finally did bad. My mojo´s back, baby! (What is it about me and Europe that I only seem to hook up with Americans?)