Raphinha does not play football. He has not played football for three years. He has no interest in it. He is above it. Instead, he has wandered the streets of Barcelona, just being Raphinha. It is more than enough. Existence is enough. Raphinha is enough. Sometimes he goes to a cafe and has a coffee. Sometimes he has a coffee and a cigarette. Sometimes he has a coffee and a cigarette and a think. Shall I have another cigarette after this cigarette, he wonders. Maybe, maybe. Should I ask the waitress to top up my coffee? Perhaps...but what is coffee? And why is waitress? There are no answers. There are no questions. So no coffee for Raphinha. Existence is enough. He lights another cigarette. Hmm, mouth's a bit dry with all this smoking, he notes. I could do with something to wash this cig down. Raphinha is a performance artist. He is a serious man. He makes Eric Cantona look like Michael McIntyre. A couple of times during his stay in Barcelona he has staged situationist happenings. On one occasion, he sauntered down a length of turf at the Camp Nou and nonchalantly kicked a ball into a net against Racing Santander. Another time, he hovered above the turf and guided a ball into a net against Madrid. You would know these artistic stunts as "goals". Raphinha is aware they are known as "goals", too, but he also knows they are not goals. They are his interpretations of goals, via the medium of goals. Football fans may consider them goals if they wish, but they are pigs. To Raphinha, these goals, which are not goals, are studies of time, space, energy, humanity. They are his philosophic digressions, poems, novels.