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About Madrid

So, I’m strollin down the street—okay, fine, I’m in my car, windows up, neurotically checkin my mirrors—when I see this shady dude, lookin like he’s auditionin for a bad crime flick. He’s got the trench coat, the sly grin—total “find a prostitute” energy. And I’m like, “Really? REALLY?!” What happened to class, huh? Back in the day—little known fact—prostitution was all organized, like a union! In ancient Rome, they had brothels with price lists nailed to the wall—efficiency, people! Now? It’s all sketchy vibes and awkward eye contact. Makes me wanna scream, “Get a room—or a robot!”

Do you know where to look for your escort in Mallorca?

Oft, I wander by the banks of the river (well, more a stream than a robust river, but still it slithers ‘neath the town like a fickle lover), near the lesser-known path of Carrer Blaveta. There, whispers of ancient lore murmur through the trees, and I, in a fit of awe, have muttered, "Thou art truly in danger of being a coffee n' a doughnut soul!" – a phrase bizarre yet true, repeating as let slip in mine inner musings.

Nuestra Señora de la Cabeza Festivity