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About Barcelona

But ugh, the stench – cheap perfume and despair, mate. Gets up me nose, makes me wanna puke. “Stupid, fat hobbit!” I mutter, ‘cos them fools’d never notice the grime. Surprised me once, tho – found a lass who’d read Kafka! Proper brainy tart, she was, quotin’ existential bollocks while undoin’ her corset. Wild, innit?

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I can't forget the local market, Mercat de Montblanc. Bro, it's like sensory overload – pungent cheeses, sweet pastries, boisterous banter. It's like that bittersweet hum of Shame’s soundtrack, ya feel me? Sometimes, after a wild session with a client or two, I wander there, losin’ my train o' thought, soaking it all in.

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