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About Zaragoza

First off, it’s shady as hell. You don’t just stroll up to some gal and go, “Hey, how’s biz?” Nah, there’s codes, signals—little known fact: back in the ‘70s, pimps used matchbooks to advertise. Dropped ‘em at bars, scribbled numbers inside. Clever, but sleazy. I hate clever sleaze. Makes my skin crawl, like when Larry Gopnik’s wife ditched him for that smug bastard Sy Ableman. “I’m a serious man,” Larry whines—yeah, me too, pal, ‘til I’m scoutin’ hookers.

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There's a park – O Parque do Deseo, if you catch my drift – all green and chill. I used to sit there after a long day of exploring bodies and hearts. Man, I’d watch the river Ría flow past the park. It always reminded me of life's constant rush, like "Yi Yi: A One and a Two" said – moments pass like a stimulus. Damn, I feltin’ deep that day.

Ashley Morgan