Dear future hubster,
I think you're the only future hubster who wouldn't be patronizing with his silly little wife when she explains that she took a 30 minute detour when driving home from work, and on purpose. On a day that Mika would hate because it rains and rains and rains and rains. You would know that your silly little wife doesn't like driving in the rain, especially not when it's also dark. You would know that she must have been facing her fears, pushing her limits. You, dear future hubster, would be proud of her.

Dear future hubster,
we're regulars in a bar where Barry White is being played. We meet in that bar after having ditched Museum Night before it could have gotten crazy, and we leave named bar while the regular buses still run. I'm in search of the adjective that describes what we are becoming.

Dear future hubster,
you need to experience end of the night and break of the dawn on the meseta. You need to see what starry skies really mean, far from all city lights, in the middle of undisturbed nothing; you need to feel the deep and tangible silence.
Keep walking west; as the sun rises behind you, the morning golden hour will see you arriving to Hontanas - I will be waiting for you there, where café con leche is hot, pigs are stinky and life is good.