The New Yorker, By Peter Huang
I’m in Barcelona writing a screenplay—a writer cliché, I know. I’ve been here a couple weeks and am at a bar with some friends. We’re at a language exchange, where locals and expats gather to practice the newest language on their list, be it Spanish, English, French, or Catalan. Really though, it’s just an excuse to meet new people.
“You’re from Toronto?” asks one of the locals. “I always wanted to go. My cousin visited last year and said it’s real cool. People are friendly... and don’t judge each other.”