The arena is under construction. There is a dust from the equipment that moves pieces back and forth, digging under earth. The dust is like a sand, but not like the sand on the beaches of Barcelona. The arena of Barcelona is under construction.
The matador is waiting outside. She is tall, thin, white, and a woman. She wears fashionable jeans and a modern-day shirt. She lures men as much as she lures bulls. Her cape could be made of tulle or organza. It is too dressy to be worn. She lifts the translucent red fabric above her and the breeze moves it, tempting all who see. She is a siren, but she says nothing. The matador is waiting outside, but there is no bull. There is no bull because the arena of Barcelona is under construction.
