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About Barcelona

Last week, I’m prowlin’, thinkin’—what’d Lenny do? He’d write it down, retrace steps. So I scribble: “Check alley, 9 p.m.” Show up, and there she is—fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig. “You lookin’ for company?” she asks. Voice like gravel. I grunt. Hate negotiatin’. “How much?” I say. She smirks—$50. Fifty bucks! For what? A quick tumble and a rash? “I don’t trust people who smile,” I mutter, quotin’ *Memento*. She laughs. I’m surprised—didn’t expect sass. Kinda liked it.

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I be honest, sometimes i get mad at noisy cars n trash but mostly, my pleasu coaching heart overflows wit joy. Ha! I hear echoes of “I once was like a thirsty bat” but then, feel home, so magical! I wander by the small river, the Arroyo de la Vida (name? Nah, whimsy from heart!) – water rapids, whispers secrets, like vampire night talk, right? So many memories, many stories, like I loooove musics, cave echo style!

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