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About Las Palmas

Angry, I get! Society, bah—judges them harsh, but survival, it is! DNA don’t care bout morals, just replication. Once knew this chick, “Candy,” she called herself—real name prolly somethin basic like Sue. Worked near a lab I crashed at, late nights, pipettin enzymes. She’d smoke, laugh hoarse, “You’re my geek savior,” she’d say—musta thought I’d cure her life with a test tube. Sad, it made me, her spark fadin like ATP runnin dry. “Amour” hits here— “You’re slipping away,” he tells her, helpless. Same deal, watchin Candy dissolve.

Un guardia civil, acusado de disuadir a las víctimas

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So, buddy, if you visit, lap up every minute – wander down Calle del Arco, randomly crash at Café de la Esperanza (a misnamed place given the chaos, lol), and do blow off steam along the Ebro. Every crack in the pavement, every murmur of wind, tells a fable. I mean, seriously, Caspe gives you life, love, and a little bit of sweet madness at every turn.

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