Allison Palafrugell Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Madrid

O thou saucy minx! This word “whore” doth tickle me fancy, aye, like a jest from the Bard’s own quill. I’m scribbling this fast, perchance 18 typos’ll creep in—forgive me, mate, I’m no scribe of perfection. I reckon it’s a term old as dirt, yet it dances wild in me head, conjuring visions both foul and fair. ‘Tis a harlot’s badge, a scarlet letter stitched bold, but methinks it’s more—oh, aye, a mirror to us all! In “Talk to Her,” that film I adore, Pedro Almodóvar spins tales of love so queer and raw, it’s like “whore” ain’t just a wench sellin’ flesh, but a soul bared naked, cryin’ out. “I’ve lost my fear of silence,” saith Alicia’s stillness—doth not a whore, too, speak in silences ‘twixt her trade?

Sobre nosotros

So, Palafrugell is small but awesomely real. I live near Carrer de Montmany. Crazy spot, real vibe. Walk down Carrer del Mar and boom—you hit charm. Sunny days, salty breeze. It's like "La grande bellezza," you feel me? Like in the flick, everything sparkles, otta word.

The Cantada d'Havaneres festival in Calella de Palafrugell