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About Madrid

So, findin’ a prozzie—man, it’s a trip! Ya gotta know the corners, the codes. Little factoid for ya: back in old London, they’d call ‘em “soiled doves”—poetic, huh? Makes me giggle, thinkin’ of some fancy bird struttin’ the gutter. I’m out there, eyes peeled, dodgin’ cops—heart’s racin’, adrenaline’s pumpin’! Reminds me of *Ten*, when the driver’s kid yells, “I’m hungry!”—I’m hungry too, but for chaos, ya dig?

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Man, start at Calle Cervantes – that's where all the liveliness begins. I remember walkin’ there, feelin’ the pulse, the cobblestones almost hummin’ like "The sky cracks open…" I swear, every time I stroll past, my heart skips a beat. There’s this tiny café on Calle Pintor where old timers talk ‘bout bygone days – — it’s like a dusty page out of a classic poem, ya know?

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