The Mirador de San Nicolás is a small square in the Albaicín where, every evening, several hundred people gather to photograph the Alhambra going orange across the valley. There's a guitarist. There's a man selling beer from a bag. There's a moment when everyone's screen lights up at once, like a field of very small campfires.
I took the photograph. Then I put the phone in my bag and did the thing Duarte has been trying to teach me for three years, which is to look at the thing without a rectangle around it.
The palace is red, then orange, then a colour that doesn't have a name in either of my languages, then grey. The mountain behind it keeps its snow. Swifts go through the whole scene at speed as if they're late for something. It takes about twenty-five minutes and nobody films the last ten, because the light has gone and the phones have decided it's over.
It isn't over. The last ten minutes are the best. I'm telling you this so you'll stay, and so I remember to.