A man, a mobile phone, a treadmill

Prepare to read another little blackout story. But if we live in a culture of absolute individuality, that's the price: one man, one vote, a rant about the day the power went out in almost all of Spain. Don't worry, you won't read another eulogy here to the life of yesteryear, to the book, the transistor radio, and the sunshine on your face . Well, to the book, yes.

The best moment of my Monday, April 28, 2025, was going out into the night to steal Wi-Fi from a place I suspected would have it active and available: a gym, my gym. The place was operational, lit, and, despite it being already 11 a.m., people could be seen exercising through the glass. A beautiful illustration of the resilience of modern society or a shameful symbol of decadence? Perhaps both. Although perhaps the worst part was the image within the image: a guy in a tracksuit standing next to the gym door, illuminated by his cell phone screen, smiling as he watched the internet and, therefore, life (life!) reborn in his hands. Lyrical or pathetic? Exciting or painful? Free man or slave?

Until the natural light faded, I spent the last few hours of the afternoon reading on the terrace (Claire Dederer's Monsters is highly recommended). That same morning, I'd been convincing myself to get another e-book and, this time, commit to using it. It doesn't make much sense to have so many books pile up in my house, nor to have my bag always weighed down by one or two volumes. But I struggle to read on those things with their sad screens. I can't believe what I read on them. That, especially in the case of nonfiction, is disturbing. I'm not a paper romantic; I'm a pixel misfit. And yet, when the pixel fails me, my life falls apart .

Today I recalculated how much I'd save on books (and physical therapy) each year if I finally switched to e-books. I've added a new factor to the equation, though: what if it happens again?

After several hours of living in the 18th century, it's sublime to see someone running on a treadmill in a gym. It's also a disturbing sight: a human being running without moving, in a city awakening from a strange nightmare of a siesta. A few blocks away, a train station, the most important in Barcelona, ​​empty and expectant. Around it, people carrying suitcases, some disoriented, others tense, all tired. Tomorrow everything will return to normal, they say. That's what confidence in the modern world is all about. But the next day, when I left the house, I had not one, not two, but three books in my bag. None of them were electronic. In the afternoon, I went for a run at the gym .