"No," Cristina stepped forward, emboldened by the heat and the mystery. "We want to check out the Vicky Cristina Barcelona files. The raw footage."
The heat in Barcelona was different than the heat in New York. It was drier, older, and it seemed to cling to the stone facades of the Eixample district. Vicky stood on the balcony of their rented apartment, fanning herself with a folded map, while Cristina lay sprawled on the sofa inside, nursing a glass of iced vermouth. vicky cristina barcelona internet archive