We sought out the perfect post bull run breakfast of chocolate and churros. With steaming cups of chocolate and a heaping plate of churros we waded back to the apartment through piles of trash. A passing truck splashed refuse all over my pants, which promptly went into the washer when we got back.
Hours later we awoke to hunt down some dinner. It felt like 10 or 11 am but it was 6pm. The pickings were slim due to it being Sunday and a holiday. We ended up at Burger King again. Whoppers in Spain taste better than in the USA, probably because the EU requires them to use real beef. The fries are just as bad as in the US though.
Greg pretending he was a bull.
Jess bought a bota, a leather pouch for holding wine. It quickly filled with sangria and became a source of amusement all night.
We walked over to the bus station to meet up with a friend of a friend of Marie's. We relaxed on the grass and chatted. Near us a Scottish guy was passed out cold and his very drunk Irish friend stumbled over to our group. We taught the Irish guy a new drinking game where you close your eyes and open your mouth. Sometimes the bota shoots sangria in your mouth sometimes you just get sprayed with wine. Scottish guy woke up and they were both convinced it was like 6 am and time to run with the bulls... So off they went.
We watched the fireworks. Not as good as last night in my opinion.
We we walked one plaza over to La Pegatina in concert. They play a song Marie Carmen, which is Marie's first name. I enjoyed the music but not being sandwiching in a crowd of drunk teens and twentsomethings.
And off to bed at 2:30am.
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