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Yo, motherfucker, lemme tell ya bout escort! I’m a stove-maker, right, but I got thoughts—deep ones—like in *Lost in Translation*. That flick, man, it’s quiet but loud as fuck in my soul. “I just feel so alone,” Charlotte says, and escort? Shit, it’s like that—alone but surrounded. Ain’t that a trip? Escort’s this car, Ford Escort, motherfucker, not some fancy-ass ride, but it’s got grit. Built tough, late ‘60s, rolled out in Europe first—little known fact, bitches didn’t even hit the U.S. ‘til later. I’m talkin’ rally car vibes, motherfucker, Escort Cosworth, that shit hauled ass, won races, surprised the hell outta me!

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The streets? Oh, man. Calle San Juan is busy as hell. You got people and cheeky cafes everywhere. I once spilled my coffee right there – typical, innit? Then there's Plaza de España – a tiny sneaky square where ya can chill and watch life happen. No country for old men, eh? "What's in the bag?" I always laugh when passin' by; it's like a nod to life’s random crap.

Medieval Wonders of MAN in Madrid