Nerja's Beach. Where 'Verano Azul' and the 'We shall not be moved'.
A few metres away a Chaquete' statue.
Longed for youth, childhood and adolescence. Everything went and went with Verano Azul.
A group of youngsters come to the shore. All of them are men, but none of them are Pancho, Piraña or Javi.
They bring music, cigarettes and drinks.
One of them, with a Neymar Jr. style chain around his neck, is wearing a wide glass half-full.
It seems that the cigars are seasoned. The smell gives a clue.
I left them there, with their laughter and music.
After a while other kids pass by in a pedal boat and the Neymar Jr. swims towards them in a 'pirate' mode. He got into the boat and they started to fight.
He comes out of the water very angry.
Although in this case he hasn't lost the final of the Champion. In the boat he has found a cock stronger than him.
It must be a German cock.
He takes the glass and breaks it on the sand.
As it is 5pm and I do not forgive the afternoon coffee with a good reading. I go to the nearest chiringuito.
I leave the Neymar cursing.
It seems that today is a day of drunkenness.
A woman in her fifties, sitting on the sand. Vomiting.
The noise turns my stomach down.
A friend or her daughter is standing next to her. She looks bad and has a bottle in her hands, with which she waters her head a few.
She looks like a wet chicken. With dyed blond hair stuck to her head.
Next to it, a table of two men, also of age, contemplates the scene. They talk among themselves and also with the drunken woman.
They know each other.
I leave the scene to concentrate on the coffee with ice and without sugar. My favourite drink of the summer.
I take small sips. I start to savouring the bitterness of the coffee and melting into the reading.
On the way back the group has grown. They have joined a group of girls and they having a conversation. One of them is pissed off with the chain around her neck.
The same one with the glass, the Neymar Jr.
I look to the side and see that they have moved, but they have left all the rubbish in the sand. And the worse: the broken glass.
A woman turns to the group and admonishes them:
⁃ "You have to be ashamed. That poor woman is picking up your rubbish".
A full-blown red card. Neymar does not finish the game today.
He fought, got drunk and dirtied the beach.
To make matters worse, he leaves a broken glass on the sand.
On the beach. In the place in excellence where nobody tells you anything for going barefoot.
Whenever I talk about running without shoes, they tell me about the beach.
And you, the Nerja Neymar fills it with broken glass.
Now I have no arguments to convince others to run barefoot, neither on the sand of the beach, nor of course on the asphalt, where the crystals grow by themselves.
By the way, between bullies, coffees and sun, I went to inspect some rocks nearby.
I was accompanied by my brother, my niece and my two children.
We had a great time going up and down the rocks, discovering small coves and the odd sea cave.
Of course, everyone, without exception, with the Vivobarefoot Ultra.
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