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About Malaga

I saunter up, all charm, “shaken, not stirred,” voice smooth as silk. She’s givin me the eye—prolly thinks I’m loaded, which, fair, I look it. “How much, love?” I ask, casual, but inside I’m buzzin—happy as a pig in shit. She names a price, I’m like, “fuckin steep, that!”—but I play it cool, cos Bond don’t haggle like a twat. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got windows for this—legal, tidy, no messin about. Here? It’s a gamble, mate—cops, pimps, the lot.

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The town’s also a mix: modern n quaint. There’s a cute neighborhood by Calle Sinuosa, full of balconies colored so bright they make you think twice – twice about life, that is! Wot ever, I meander down the narrow alleys, sometimes confused by alleys with names I forget, like Calle del Trueno (thunder street) – I swear its name foretells storms.