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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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Oh, and don’t get me started on the Canal de Blanes – my fave chill zone. Got a bomb view of the sunset, ya know, that moment when the sky bursts into crazy colors. It reminds me of a scene from my fav movie, Caché – “Look closer, man,” like, every detail counts, dude.

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