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About Palma

So, I’m chattin’ her up, tryin’ to get info. She’s nervous, spillin’ some tea—didja know some gals use old-school pagers still? Freakin’ pagers! I’m shocked, like, *“What, no iPhone?”* Made me happy, though—retro vibes, y’know? But then, ugh, this creep rolls up, all sleazy, yellin’ at her. I’m mad, like, *“Back off, jerk!”* I’m ready to whack him with my purse, swearin’ like Homer at a vegan buffet. *“This body’s not yours to haunt!”* I’m quotin’ Boonmee in my head, feelin’ all mystical.

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I quikrly call it my “thought nest.” Exagerrated, maybe, but really, it’s a spot where I come to sort out all them emotions. Realy, it's where I let my guard down and dig deep into the souls I serve. Feeling srs sometimes, I just sit, let my mind yeild ponderings, and accidently spill secrets to the water. Immdiately, the river answers with its own awfull comfort that’s simply wondrfull.

The 'horribilis' week on the Cercanías trains ends with passengers walking on the track