A city that has been layered over itself so many times the layers stopped pretending to be separate. She is not here to see the Alhambra — she is here because somewhere underneath all that accumulation there is still a thing that held its shape. April into May: the jasmine is already too much, the tourists haven't arrived at full force yet, the air in the Albaicín before nine in the morning belongs entirely to whoever got up for it.