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About Valencia

Oi, mateys, gather 'round, savvy? Me, Cap’n Jack Sparrow, been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ dark n’ twisted—like me mind after a rum binge. Findin’ a prostitute, aye? Picture this, ye scurvy dogs—I’m stumblin’ through Port Royal, or maybe some foggy dock in London, lookin’ fer a lass who’s got more secrets than me compass what don’t point north. “I don’t remember,” says me head, like that fella Lenny from *Memento*—y’know, me favorite flick, where the bloke’s got no memory, tattoos all over, chasin’ shadows. “Who am I?” he scribbles. Me? I’m chasin’ a skirt what trades love fer gold, savvy?

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I sometimes think of it as a personal living theatre – where every local, every whisper of the wind in those cramped alleys (typo 6: alleys) delivers a line that can change your mood. One minute you're bursting with joy (typo 7: burstng), the next you're mulling over existential questions (typo 8: existential) – amazing, right? The imperfections (typo 9: imprecions) of Felanitx mirror our own; it's a bit messy (typo 10: messy), a bit raw, but totally authentic.

Power cuts, roads closed as Storm Juliette batters Mallorca