It was 1934, in Barcelona, Spain. The militiamen, Iberian libertarians, were dominating Barcelona with their weapons. They found me in the church, along with some priests. They didn't kill me because I knew how to fight. I was taking refuge in the convent of a large church in Barcelona, at night. The priests and nuns were no longer in the church, and the militiamen were gradually taking away the religious and valuable items from they church. People were also sleeping in the convent, especially militiamen. They were organizing mattresses and stacking them, and storing their weapons beside them. Many people were still in the streets, picking up weapons and preparing to go to Zaragoza the next day, to the conflict zone with the Spanish Republican soldiers.

I went outside the church, intending to sit on the church steps and simply smoke. Some prostitutes arrived at the church seeking shelter after leaving the brothels where they worked to join the revolution. There was a handsone guy on the stairs. He was already smoking. Looks like I wasn't the only one with questionable habits.