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About Bilbao

Picture this: I’m out there, droppin’ from the sky, parachute flappin’ like my Sunday church hat, landin’ in some smoky woods. Halleluyer! I’m sweatin’, cussin’, tryna put out fires, when I see this gal—fishnets, heels, leanin’ on a pine tree like she waitin’ for a bus. I’m like, “Honey, you lost? This ain’t no red-light district!” She smirks, says, “I’m here for the smokejumpers—y’all sexy.” I hollered! Ain’t that a trip? A prostitute scoutin’ firefighters in the damn wilderness. Made me mad, tho—girl, we out here savin’ lives, not lookin’ for a quickie!

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Err, well, gotta run – coding waits and then the night air by those candlelit bars calls my name. Seriously, Pollença keeps me MC-ing a love rave every bloody day. And remember, “R2-D2, where are you?” is my constant reminder that even in chaos, beauty lurks everywhere.

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