He breaks into this riff: "Since I was little, they told me, 'when you get to middle school, you will fail some subjects.' I did not fail. 'When you get to high school, your grades will go down.' They did not. 'When you get to university, you will fail.' OK, I have failed a few subjects, but I got by. So I do not want to be told again that there is not going to be any work. I simply do not believe it.
"It all depends on me."
Gonzalez is not angry about his plight. He says everybody in Spain is to blame — consumers hooked on loans, banks that threw around the money, politicians who sat back and watched it all inflate dangerously.
"In the end," he says, "it is all of us at least a little bit."
MOIRA KOFFI, 22
Moira worries if she'll have a job when she gets back from vacation in Greece.
She worries about how she'll live in Paris once she has to leave student housing.
Above all — following big gains by far-right parties in France, Greece and elsewhere — the African-French communications grad worries about a racist wave engulfing Europe: "It's like the 1930s again. I don't get why people can recreate this atmosphere of hate and fear. It's crazy."
Moira just handed in her thesis at the Sorbonne, capping three years of study.
She started out as a journalism major, but switched to corporate communications when crisis hit in 2008.
"I wanted to be a journalist, but then I heard about everyone who couldn't find jobs," Moira says.
But by the time she graduated the downturn had expanded, and now half of France's new graduates have no work.
"Can it get any worse?" she says with a wry laugh. "Well, maybe if the European Union explodes."
Moira has had time to come to terms with the crisis. Its start coincided with her move to Paris four years ago. Leaving her widowed mother teaching school in a small town in Normandy, Moira made her way in the capital as countless young students have before her, counting her centimes and enjoying "la vie boheme" — bohemian life.
The Sorbonne helped her find a short-term apprenticeship at a public relations agency, where she handles social media campaigns.
The four-day-a-week job ends in September. She wants to stay on, but there are no guarantees.
Moira budgets carefully, keeping expenses to around 600 euros ($750) a month. She goes out less than she did when she first moved to Paris, taking up hobbies like dressmaking and baking muffins. Her most recent creation? A "beautiful and classy" black dress. It's nearly finished after six months of work.
LUTZ HENSCHEL, 27
Lutz picks up his diploma in a soaring hall adorned with a sculpture of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. He savors a glass of champagne. Listens to the music.
With a masters in electrical engineering in Germany, Europe's most successful economy, he knows his prospects are brighter than those of millions of other university graduates across the continent.
But since finishing his studies in January, Lutz has sent out nearly 40 applications and been through about 15 interviews, only to keep hitting a brick wall.
"At the beginning I felt disappointed because I believed that I was the reason for the rejections," he says. "But now I think that a lot of companies have too high expectations."
Even facing a shortage of skilled workers, elite German companies have been notoriously unwilling to hire students straight out of university. Lutz sees himself trapped in a Catch-22: "They expect a graduate to have specific knowledge and experiences which I think is impossible to have right after graduation."
The Berlin native who teaches karate on the side dreams of a job in renewable energy.
This month he took a six-hour train journey south for an interview with German engineering giant Bosch.
Two days later, it was an hour-and-a-half train ride north for an interview with a German-Danish company that builds wind farms.