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About Barcelona

Here’s the kicker: she’s tellin’ me ‘bout this client—some weirdo wanted her to hum jazz while he cried. I’m dyin’ laughin’—what the hell? Surprised me, man, these stories are gold. I’m thinkin’, shit, maybe I’ll write a movie—*In the Mood for Hookers*. Wong Kar-wai’d hate it, but I’d watch it twice. Anyway, we seal the deal—cash swapped, vibes set. She’s got this walk, slow and sultry, like *“the past whispered back.”* I’m hooked, mate—angry it’s so quick, happy it’s so raw.

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The nice " day time looky looky men" are openly offering drugs and the prostitutes are offering services. The place is a disgrace. bars not concerned about how.

Got this funny memory – so I was, like, trippin' my way down Camino Real, bumpin' into folks, and almost knocked over a street vendor's fruit basket. I said "sorry, sorry" in a mad rush, thinking: "This is live-action Moonrise Kingdom, man!" Hahaha! Crazy, right? And then, there's a tiny roadside tapas bar, the best-kept secret ever, called El Barquito. I always pop in, grab some jamón, haha, and watch the world pass by, knowing I got my kick of pleasure from every bite.

One killed and two injured in tragic motorway accident in Tenerife