The fine

I was driving through the streets of Limonar last Monday just before eight in the morning, with Google Maps switched on because I don't know the routes or the roads down to the sea. The Malaga district is, for me, a multicursal labyrinth, with streets that never end and façades that seem to judge you for driving an unwashed car.

At one of those capricious junctions, where you don't know if cars are coming from the left, from the right, or from a parallel universe, I glanced down at my mobile to check if it was time to turn. In that second of carelessness I looked up and slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid crashing into a Local Police car. Inside were two officers, with that expression that says that whatever happens, it'll be your fault. I was already prepared to hang my head and confess everything. Like when in The Goonies they tell Chunk to spill the whole truth.

They got out of the car, gestured for me to pull over and asked for my driving licence and identification. He was very cross. She was too. They kept repeating that I could have killed someone, where was I going in such a rush. And then I said it, without calculating the level of surrealism: that I was going to take breakfast to my friend, who was doing a performance in the sea, that she was going to stay in the water all day from sunrise to sunset. I think that's when I started to grow on them a bit.

Whilst they carried on talking, I pretended to look for my wallet, knowing perfectly well that I'd left it at home. I opened and closed the glove compartment with pointless theatrics, as if it might appear at any moment amongst the keys and a packet of chewing gum. In the end I had to give up, get out my mobile and look for my scanned ID in my email, and open the DGT app to show them my digital licence, trying not to let them notice the trembling on the screen.

When they told me they were going to fine me, my chin had a strange reaction, as if there were a hyperactive baby inside giving little kicks. A tiny spasm, then another, impossible to control. After the second involuntary movement, I put back on the sunglasses that I'd taken off at the beginning to look them in the eye and demonstrate sincerity. I didn't want them to see anything more.

With the protection of sunglasses, my eyes felt free to secrete tears. In the background the lecture about the deaths I could have caused continued - despite my, in my opinion, excellent reflexes and impeccable driving record - and I took the opportunity to unburden myself to those two strangers and release all the accumulated stress. In the end, the policeman gave me a hug before I got back in the car, and the female officer stopped the traffic so I could reverse calmly. Then she offered me a tissue, with the delicacy of someone who knows it's not in their procedures manual. That fine did me more good than a massage at the Turkish baths or a therapy session.