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About Barcelona

We’re chattin’, and I’m thinkin’ *Boyhood* again—“It’s always right now,” y’know? This moment, her laugh, the cig smoke curlin’—it’s real, raw, fuckin’ alive. But then—bam!—some wanker in a beat-up Jag rolls up, yellin’ at her. Ex-pimp or some shit. I’m pissed, mate—nobody fucks with my night. I step in, all cool, “Oi, mate, piss off or I’ll rearrange ya.” He bolts, tires screechin’. She’s laughin’, says, “You’re mad, you are!” Happy as a pig in shit, me—saved the day, Bond-style.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

I got so many memories here. One time, I sat by the old fountain at Plaza Mercancía – yep, that’s the spot. I was deep in thought, when an old man approached me, and he whispered, "Revenge, please, laugh when you can." I was like, WTF, but then chuckled—so surreal.

Rush hour traffic jams, the order of the day at a dozen hotspots in Malaga province