Peanut Butter and chocolate are the ruling parties, but that's not what my story is about

So, I have a short little story for you. Last week I had some time to kill and was in the center of town, so I decided to take a walk, go exploring, and get a little lost (but not too lost, you see). It was a beautiful day, and the 6 o'clock sun was keeping the stones on the buildings warm. I was wandering through the narrow streets, enjoying the fact that it's not uncommon to see men in the coolest business suits ever whizzing down the street on their scooters. I was enjoying the moment, marveling in the fact that I am in Spain, and oh look at the little balconies 3 stories up. What would it be like to live on a little cobblestone street in Spain? Could life get any better than this? My mind was savoring the moment like a piece of chocolate dipped in crunchy peanut butter (by the way, in the history of all super heroes and side kicks, pb and chocolate win, case closed).

Interrupting my thoughts, to the right of me was this innocuous little ... splat. hmmm. A sunny weather splat. Upon closer observation, I saw that the cause of the splat was this foamy white ball of spittle, and the perpetrator none other than a 7 year old punk on the third story balcony. And then... he spat again, this little punk! I think he was aiming for me! I looked up at him, and he ran inside, so I must have shown him who the boss clearly was. Hopefully. But Perhaps not. Next time I decide to wander through the streets, I will be armed with vocabulary enough to set this kid straight, or else a water gun! :()