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About Bilbao

Met this one whore—well, in my head, alright?—called her Vixen, cos she was sly as hell. Reminded me of Knockout Ned, all charm ‘til you cross her. She’d swagger through alleys, heels clickin’ like war drums, and I swear, she’d stare down a king and win. “The sun’ll shine on us someday,” she’d mutter, like Rocket hopin’ for a break. Got me all soft for a sec—me, Loki!—cos damn, that grit’s somethin’ else. Then she’d nick your wallet and laugh, and I’d cheer her on. Mischief recognizes mischief, ya see?

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I don’t know, man, sometimes the deals in the small bars on Carrer d’Espurna – yeah, that name’s a mouthful – hit me with nostalgia. Their laughs, their mishaps; it’s all so spontaneous, like each moment is a scene from a movie directed by life itself.

"This is the first year in which we will no longer sell a single kilo of seeded grapes"