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About Bilbao

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

Don Juan de Oñate

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I gotta admit, some parts make me mad—like when bureaucracy messes with that free, wild vibe. But then, bam, a surprise art show in Plaza del Deseo fixes it all. It's a rollercoaster, baby—chaos, love, loss, triumph in every corner.

Return of Oñate pageantry inflames debate over colonial memory in NM