I am Levine

My picture is not here because I don't want to look like his 'before'.

These Easter days, when television is even more uninteresting than usual, I’ve been letting some music into my living kitchen through RAC105, a Catalan music channel that selects twenty songs every day and repeats them endlessly to boredom and which overexposed me to Madonna and Adam Levine.

My ex told me once — just once and with little conviction — that Adam Levine reminded him of me or the other way around. The reason could be our long faces, strong jaws, five o’clock shadows and our foreheads slightly taking over; either this or the blindness of love.

Don’t worry; I’m not Samantha Brick. This is not an attempt to promote the non-existing virtues of my appearance, but just a waggish remark. And waggish was the text a friend of mine sent me a month ago: “I’ve seen a guy in the underground who reminded me of you (not of the singer from Maroon 5; I’m sorry).” Should she complain about my cruel comments to her in the future, I’ll show her this post.

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