patterns_bloom

The blaring bass pounds in Alana's ears, shaking her down to her bones. She throws her hands over her head, joining the throng of sweaty bodies pulsing in time with the music. The seedy Madrid nightclub is poorly lit aside from the strobe lights, with neon signs of roosters and martinis lining the walls. The bar is long and red, strung up with fairy lights, and tended by the hottest bartender Alana has ever seen in her life--a lean, tan, Adonis of a man with a trimmed black beard and sky blue eyes.

Alana dances herself into exhaustion, giving herself entirely over to the music. Jello shots are plentiful and tasty throughout the night. As soon as she retreats to the quieter balcony upstairs, Alana is pulled into a philosophical debate about nature vs. nurture with the cannabis-smoking locals that lasts until the early hours of the morning.

Alana doesn't go home with anyone, though she's sorely tempted.

She collapses into her bed at the Sungate One hostel to sleep for a few hours, and then she's up again to travel to the picturesque Costa del Sol beach in the province of Malaga. Alana acquires a beer from one of the beach-side bars, and stretches out on the scenic white patch of sand. Crashing gently to the shore, the surf brings kelp up from the sea.

Sketching a bird picking at driftwood until the evening, when the sun crests over the sea, Alana Bloom rests.