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About Malaga

So "whore" - it’s a grubby little word, innit? Makes me wanna cackle like a hyena. Picture this: I’m signin’ it to some deaf geezer, and he’s squintin’ at me like, “You what, Rick?” Gets me every time! In *Holy Motors*, there’s that line - “Beauty! Beauty! Pure beauty!” - and I’m thinkin’, mate, a whore’s beauty’s about as pure as a pub toilet. But it’s hypnotic, right? Like watchin’ a car crash in slow-mo.

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The old neighborhood of La Flor is something else. Picture crumbling walls, vibrant murals—street art that shouts, "We're alive!" A must-see, and trust me, juvenile musings aside, its energetic pulse surprises me every time. Swing by Plaza del Encuentro for some people-watching, a bit of introspection, and maybe a sip of a cheeky espresso. I tell ya, those benches have heard more secrets than I’ll ever confess in therapy.

4 suspected drug pushers killed in Quezon