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About Palma

I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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I got mad love for Parque del Ebro – oh snap, the green chill zone by the Ebro river. I be relaxin’ there, thinkin’ bout human connections, sex, and life’s mysteries while peepin’ the people lovin' nature. Sometimes, I even vibe and whisper, “Let it go, let it all go…” like in that flick, just feelin’ it.

Drinking in the Rioja