When I left you the first time, you knew I would be back. As much as I complained about your glacial pace of getting things done and how you wouldn’t let me own a vehicle, you knew what Italy had in store for me better than I did. I know I threatened to leave you for Italy before, so when I came running back to you, you could have made things really difficult just to punish me. In fact I was expecting it. I thought I would have to live in a rat hole (and there are oh so many to choose from) until I found a decent place to live 3 months from now. And sure, my wallet got stolen again pretty much the second I returned.
But you came through for me in the end, didn’t you? You gave me a room with my own bathroom and some pretty decent flatmates. Oh, and this view right outside my rooms french doors:
So thanks, Spain. I’m happy to be back.