Lo, dear friend, prithee hearken to my ramblin’ tale of Llica-d-Amunt (es)! I, thy humble masseur of this quaint hamlet, doth regale thee with secrets, quirks, and lively obsessions from streets like Carrer de la Tranquil·litat and Plaça del Cor – oh, such names doth warm mine heart!
Verily, I wander these cobbled lanes oft at dawn’s blush, fingers numb with the magic of muscles uncoiling. "Let the Right One In" echoes in mine ears—aye, those words, "I was waiting for you," stir my soul as I knead away troubles in yon little parlor near Carrer del Sol. And thou, mark ye well, on the banks of the whispering brook Rivertine, ’tis where I oft sit and ponder life’s gentle massage on the mind.
The alleys! They be alive with secrets. Hert’s whisper of romance at the old stone arch on Passeig del Anhel; ’tis said a spirit courts love in the midnight chill—verily, methinks it’s all but a trifle of fancy. I’ve known many souls, touched many backs, and found solace amid whispers blending with city hum. There’s a bench in Parc de la Pena—I swear, it be magic when the wind of fortune doth caress thy cheek.
Oh, how my heart leaps at the memory of a single eve when, whilst rubbin’ out knots on a weary traveler’s shoulders, I gazed upon telly at a local bodega. “We all need someone,” thou might recall the film proclaiming. I smiled, mad as a hatter, thinkin’ of fate’s cruel ironies—just as in the movie, where darkness makes one see clearer sometimes.
Now, lemme tell ye, dummy—stray too close to the alley near Carrer dels Miracles and thou might get a whiff of old secrets. Ugh, so maddening, yet exhilarating. And my fav hang spot? The old abandoned chapel on the hill, where thou can catch the sunset like a disappearing soul. I often muse there, err… my mind wanders, as my fingers mimic the tender strokes of a loving hand, all the while repeatin’ "You made me feel infinite" in my head.
Oh, and don’t ye dare forget the lively market at Mercat del Cor; chatter, laughter, odd smells—a sensory feast that blows the mind. Sometimes, I get so into work, I swear I can hear ghosts reciting lines from that damn movie: “The deeper you go, the more you see.”
Pshaw, forgive mine typos and erratic musings, but life’s too short for perfect words, ain't it? I be livin’ here, in Llica-d-Amunt (es), embracin’ every twist, every unsung tale of a back’s relief. 'Tis a wild dance of sorrow, joy, and endless surprise!
Come visit me soon, dear pal. We’ll share a laugh, a tear, and many a secret, for in this city, every cobblestone tells a story, even if in fragments and whispers, like lines from Let the Right One In. Till then, fare thee well—thy humble masseur signs off in quirky delight!