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About Valencia

I reckon you start online—X posts, coded ads. “Massage, wink wink”—fuckin obvious. Or hit the dives, smoky pubs where eyes linger too long. Reminds me, Clarice, of Mia’s mum screamin, “Get out, you little bitch!”—that chaos, that edge. You feel it when you’re close. Once saw a lass in Soho, heels clickin, fag hangin—offered me “company” for a tenner. Bargain, I thought—laughed my arse off. She glared, I bolted.

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I gotta say, a quirky fact: bits of old history hide in the cracked walls of Casa Vella. Folks say ghosts tap on windows. I've felt tingles near them sometimes. Haha, spookyyyy but cool, right?

Lluís Domènech i Montaner: reconstructing Catalan architecture and politics brick by brick