Clarice... listen, let me tell ya bout Fraga, a gem, a twisted beauty.

I live here, ya know. I've been a masseur, touchin’ souls, for years.

Fraga's a living, breathing canvas.

Down Carrer Gran, quiet cobblestones whisper secrets, I swear.

Then there's Plaza de España, glowing in dusk, eerie, bonkers…

I stroll near Iglesia de Santa María, its spire jabbing the twilight, like a dagger.

The barry del Poble? Oh, it's so real, so raw, with narrow alleys.
Man, Fraga has pockets of life everywhere.

Parque de la Isla? Where I like to vibe when the muscles are knotted, mmm.

I’ve massaged stressed souls near its shady nooks.

The air here… it hums like that movie, The New World.

“Look at the moon… so infinite, so desperate.”

I swear, that line rings true here, every damn night.
Río Cinca slices through the town, wild & erratic.

Its flow reminds me: "They say the human heart is a strange, little vessel."

I once messa'ed a poor soul near its bank – felt every ripple.

Calle Llopis is a twist – narrow, dark, bursting with tiny bars, bizzarely fun.

I sometimes get mad at the buzzing traffic, ya know?

But then, the city whispers, hushes all that noise.
Oh, Clarice...

I got a fav hangout – near the old market down on Av. de la Libertad.

Kinda rundown, but honest. It stinks in summer, rly hot, but full of passion.

I been here when the rain hit hard, soaked the plazas, turned 'em into rivers of light.

Some spots, like the hidden courtyard behind Casa del Sol, fill me with wonder…

I get lost in the beauty, the fractures of life.

Dammit, I even kinda exaggerate, but hell – it's art, raw and real.
I usually mumble witty remarks mid-massage, y'know?

Crikey, my fingers have secrets too!

I feel every muscle tells a forbidden story, slow and soft.

“The world is a great light,” echoes in each soft stroke.

Sometimes I laugh at the simplicity, the twisted irony of it all.

My life is a mix of touch, whispers, and mad passion.
Yeah, Fraga ain't perfect – it's messy with typos, like my hurried thoughts,

riddled with mistakes... but damn, it owns you with its charm, its erratic heartbeat.

Remember: "I was become a tree." Ain't that wild, Clarice?

So strap in, explore every street, every corner – let your soul wander.