On Wednesdays, I have about an hour between appointments, time I would normally spend sitting in the Jardin with a cup of coffee and a pastry, watching people pose in front of the Parroquia, marveling at how easily alliteration springs from my fingertips.

Not today. Something inside me said I didn’t need the coffee. (The previous three cups?) Or the pastry. (The spreading waistline?) As I reached Calle Hernandez Macias a decision needed to be made.

Ahead of me was the pastry, park, Parroquia, and people. To my left was the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramirez El Nigromante — Belles Arte for the more mellifluously inclined.