Part of it
Some days, when i manage to leave the apartment early enough to catch my bus, i like to indulge in the three minute walk that takes me to my stop from the front door.

This is Sol, the very heart of Madrid, surprisingly calm at 8.20 am, despite the multicoloured traffic going in every direction. Also despite the armies of workers and students being burped out of the Metro exit, walking with sun glasses and briefcases, sandals and morning papers, yet not screaming or yelling or laughing furiously.

I take my three minute break as a private ritual before embracing the office day waiting for me, some fifteen stops ahead. I walk with my eyes half closed because i'm still sleepy, because the sun is falling strongly on the pavement. My eyes are also half open because i'm beginning to follow the rattle and hum of the city, because come rain or shine, i'm always loving what i see.

Following my own little path, i feel a certain peace and confidence. I say to myself: 'This is my place'. It's an odd sensation of property: you've walked around Sol so many times in your life that starting your day right there makes you somehow part of it all.

I guess you'd get the same feeling when you're a newyorker and you can hear your own high heels tapping on Times Square at 4 in the morning. The masses are gone and suddenly the world famous spot is yours. Just because, well, you've around long enough.