Camila Alcala De Xivert Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Bilbao

Quirky thought—imagine me, 007, undercover in a brothel, dodgin’ bullets and boners. “I’m here to carve my name,” I’d growl, Tarantino-style, dodgin’ a drunk john. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but brothels are bloody theatres—dramas, laughs, tears, all for a fiver. Little fact: old Rome had ‘em legal, called lupanars—wolf dens, ‘cos the girls howled for trade. Savage, eh?

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I must mention the river Xixert, flowing like a gentle lullaby by the old mill. It’s a vibe, man. I often unwind near its banks, thinking, “Well, curse my heartbeat, this place is magical!” You gotta see it to believe it, especially with that clear water reflecting the endless blue of the sky. And every now and then, the noise of the city fades away and you can practically hear the universe humming.

"Demand for clementines and oranges remains higher than the supply"