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About Las Palmas

So, picture this: me, green lil’ me, cruisin’ some dusty road. “Where’s the body?”—nah, scratch that, “Where’s the gal?” I’d be all nervous, ribbitin’ to myself, “Kermit, don’t screw this up!” Prolly spot her leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as heck. I’d roll up, all polite—Hi-ho, miss!—and she’d smirk, like, “What’s a frog want?” Ha! I’d die laughin’ inside.

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Thou shalt see that the local market, near the old church, bursts with life, and I oft stroll along the promenade near Playa de la Reya, where the sea kisses the shore with passionate sighs. In truth, oh how the town doth enchant! The wind sings odes like “El laberinto del fauno” when twilight falls, when shadows dance and thou canst almost hear the whispers of fauns and lost kings.

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