Hemingway in Pamplona

By John Affleck

I've fashioned a makeshift costume out of light khakis, a white t-shirt, and a wild west red bandanna. With me in the line at the bus station are young Spaniards, their uniforms exact: white trousers, white tunics, and the official San Fermin scarf, neatly tied in front and draped across the back. Inexplicably, I'm at the front of the line, a solitary American in questionable attire, and as such am duly ignored. They play at bull fighting, their index fingers as horns, and I can't help but think of Hemingway's short story, "The Capital of the World," in which two young cafe ...

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