George, Madrid 2004 Walking on a Friday night with John the Nigerian and George from Sierra Leone.  Jaunty, bouncing down the bright slope lit in the glare of numerous headlights.  There are no shadows.  It seems Madrid is a city without shadows, whether violently over-exposed in the long sharp daylight or blanketed in electric night, even the darkeness is bright, composed of overlapping rays of light. What is normally intimate, is here public.  Nigerian, Camerounian, Benin ladies line the “great way” calling to potential clients, in several languages offering blowjobs.  John is steely, silent as we pass each small group, but George is perenially jocular, waving as a few of the ladies call him by name: My brodda, I no see you long time,…