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"See that turret with the cross?" I point to the roof "Soe who’s just slayed the dragon"

"Architecture Maybe this is your future"

"It’s ," he says

I ponder this, but if h its insides I’d want to inspect every angle froe point as possible "Nah," I finally say "I just like the story And the way it looks"

Josh places an arm around me "Every art needs its connoisseurs"

I happily burrow into his wet side

"What’s next?" he asks, glancing at the clock on his phone

I look at him in question

He shakes his head, and we try not to be disappointed It’s still too early to check in

Sagrada Família is next The map easily leads us to the closest transit station The métro is an unaccented metro, but apart from that, it’s identical to its brother in Paris When we exit the station, the rain has slowed to a drizzle And then we see it Casa Batlló rada Família?

It’s a monster

It wants me to cower It wants me to weep It wants to save my soul from hell Gaudí started work on this church in the late nineteenth century, but it won’t be finished for at least another decade It stretches twice as high as the tallest cathedrals of France It looks like a fantasyland castle – wet sand dripped through fingers, both sharp and soft Bright construction lights are everywhere, and workers are tinkering around its erously tall cranes

We circle the entire structure, shading our eyes froures that are carved into every inch of its facade So , everywhere, that the overall style defies categorization Sorapes, while the west side is austere and tor the eyes to an emaciated Jesus on an iron cross Stone women wail beside a pile of skulls at his feet But then the east side is an abundance of life – huels and anireen tree covered in white doves

"It’s beautiful," Josh says "Fuck, that’s beautiful" Soht!"

"Where are you going?" he shouts

"I’ll be right back! Don’t move!" I dart across the street and doo blocks until I find a convenience store with a display of urab the first one, pay for it, and race back with a cheap clear kiddie umbrella

Josh is confused and upset "Don’t you think it’s too late for that?"

I hold it above his head as I dig into his backpack I toss him tomorrow’s T-shirt "Dry your hands" He obeys, and then I replace the shirt with his sketchbook and pen "You have to draw it When will you get another chance?"

"Isla, I…"

I zip up his bag, step aside, and hold the tiny shelter above his body

He watches the rain roll down my face "Thank you," he says quietly

I beaes, further protecting them, as he uncaps his pen with his teeth He draws quickly, and I have to urge him to slon I don’t mind the rain He focuses on the dove-covered tree "We have maybe two hours until sundown," he says, after nearly twenty ? Are you cold?"

"A bit, but I’m okay There’s only one more destination marked on our map"