These streets won't sing but everyone else will

Some observations and comments:

You walk down La Rambla and 4 guys hold out Estrella Damm beer, yelling, "Cerveza, cerveza!" In between these proclamations, they mutter, "Hash? Hash?" People on either side of you are drinking these cervezas while city workers spray the streets down, washing away the inordinate amount of filth and human vice that has accumulated in piles, puddles, and pools over the past couple of hours. A friend of yours trips over a vomit slick that some unfortunate soul has recently deposited on the sidewalk. This is as much a weekend as a weekday scene.

You leave an overpriced club - 10-Euro cover charge, but a street hocker has handed you a 3-Euro discount ticket - at 4 a.m. A line is still building up at the door as tourists and natives alike blaze through the night.

You sit in the park behind La Estación de Autobuses Barcelona Nord and a thousand seagulls rise into the air and swirl like a swarm of locusts. You hope you don't get crapped on. Because this is a miraculous city, you don't.