In Memory Of Manuel Molina standard
It’s 2am, and although I’m alone and exhausted. I decide to take a walk over to La Carboneria, a bar I used to hang out in 10 years earlier, when I first came to Andalucia to study the flamenco guitar. Standing outside, with a huge joint in his hand (one of those fat, filtered mixtures of tobacco and hashish you only find in Europe,) is an old bearded man. He smiles warmly, with a mischievous glint in his bloodshot eyes, takes a big puff, and says “Hola.” It’s 2007 I am in Seville and I’m “casting” for my documentary, Being in the World. Of course there’s a deep irony in the fact that I’m here inspired by my mentor, a ...
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