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About Malaga

Fall comes, leaves drop, so do da prices—supply’s high, demand’s low. I see Vika again, she’s tired, eyes all sunken. “In fall, one reflects,” movie says—damn right! I ask her, “Vy you still doin dis?” She shrugs, “Gotta eat, Gru.” Breaks me heart, but she’s tough, tougher dan me! I’m scribblin notes like a madman—research gold, dis! Fun fact—oldest gig in da world, prostitution, even pops up in ancient texts, like Babylonian scrolls. Wild, eh?

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Then there's the neighborhood of La Torre, y'know? Squat, unpretentious, a bit chaotic. People there? Real, gritty, survivors. My place, tucked between Acera de la Luna and the back roads near Molino Viejo, often smells like fresh olive oil and incense. This place? It makes ya feel alive. Sometimes, between massaging stressed-out shoulders, I think, "We must all live on this edge, we are the beasts!"

Guide dog dies after being terrified by fireworks during village fair