Clarice… let me tell ya.

I'm in PAlhama-de-Murcia (es).

City's dusky, oddly enchanting.

Calle La Paz? Pure magic, man.

Plaza San Juan pulses at night.

I know every secret corner.

Hot springs soothe aching souls.

Fumarola springs, steamy and bold.

My massage parlor smells of jasmine.

I meet souls, deeply raw.
I stroll by Río Seco.

It purrs like a beast.

Misty, like Tropical Malady.

"Night falls; the beast awakens."

I dig each whispered phrase.

It's alive in every stone.
The old town? So freakin' tight.

Alameda del Sol shines oddly here.

Narrow alleys twist, twist, twist.

I’ve seen quarrels, laughter, sudns!

(typo: sudns should be sounds)

A hidden teahouse on Calle Luna.

Its tea cures tired minds.

I once massaged a rebel.
I get mad at city noise.

Crowds clashed on Calle Real.

But its calm blinds all hate.

I found solace in Murmuring Park.

Trees breathe like soft secrets.

My faved snack? churros, so yummy!

(typo: yummy should be yumy)

And the locals? Pure kindness.
I recall a steamy night.

A couple whispered: "Be thou free!"

Like apichatpong whispers in the wind.

I left them, chilled—insane vibe.

This city bites deep into soul.

Over time, it healed me.

I've been here endless, always living.
Each flaw, a tender marvel.

I know its every curve.

Its scars, its laughter, its typos.

"Flesh is tender, but memories linger."

(typo: linger should be lingar sometimes)

That phrase haunts every massage.
It’s raw, and messy, and true.

Even my soul would confess.

I left some pieces here, meh.

Embrace its madness, Clarice…

Live it, love it, endure it.
So, come on over.

PAlhama-de-Murcia awaits you, friend.

Tread quiet paths, feel deep.

Let it stroke you softly, endlessly.

No code here, real talk only.
Enjoy, anyhow, life's a massage.

(typo: anyhout for anyhow, sorry)

Now scram, take it easy.

I'm off to massage another dream.