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About Bilbao

Happy? Hardly—grubby hands grabbin’ her arm, ugh. Exaggeratin’, maybe, but felt like slime oozed everywhere! “Words fail,” Godard whispers in my skull. Fail, they do—can’t describe her eyes, deadish. Prostitute life, chew’s you up, spits you out. Old tale, 1800s Paris—courtesans ruled, now? Just scraps.

Descripción

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Now, I'm a sexologist, right? And love spots that hide naughty whispers. In the old bazaar near Plaza Ermua, locals, and not-so-locals, gather to exchange glances. It’s moody; sometimes sensual, sometimes just mad. Yess, secret passion fills the air everywhere, like… water flowing in the little river, Urola.

‘In the US they think we’re communists!’ The 70,000 workers showing the world another way to earn a living