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But real talk—growling, “You merely adopted the dark”—it’s power, mate. Givin’ or gettin’, you’re in control, or you ain’t, and that flip’s wild. Once had this masseuse, right, tiny gal, thought she’d be soft—nah, she crushed my soul, in a good way. “What new world is this?” I’m mutterin’, half-dead, half-lovin’ it. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but that’s how it hit me—intense, messy, fuckin’ glorious.

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Then there’s Santa Clotilde Gardens. A secret haven! I been there when mad as hell, just to calm myself, walkin’ 'round those statues and neat stone paths. The gardens speak of history like whispers. I remember thinkin’, “How can somethin’ so beautiful be so simple?” and noted, “I’m just a footnote in the book of life, but oh, such a story!”

Lloret de Mar mother admits killing son and daughter, court says