“Are you going to go to a bull fight?” This is the first question I would inevitably be asked anytime I told someone I was moving to Spain. My response to this was always along the lines of, “No, we aren’t going to be anywhere near Pamplona, and that’s where they do that stuff. But maybe if we travel up north, I’ll have to check one out by myself, since I know Dreamer won’t abide that cruelty.” I guess I should have become suspicious when, one day in Castellón, Dreamer was asked to sign a petition to stop the “bous”
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