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About Madrid

I’d be all sneaky, peekin’ at X posts—prolly some shady dude tweetin’, “Hot babes here!” I’d click it, prolly get a virus, scream, “MY COMPUTER’S PREGANANT!” Made me mad once—some jerk scammed me with a fake gal pic. Total catfish! But then, I found this one chick—real sweet, smelled like pineapple. Happy vibes, man! Reminded me of that movie line, “I talk to her every day,” ‘cept I’m like, “I paid her every day!” Hehe, kidding—maybe.

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While I've never hired a prostitute, I've known more than a few women who stipped, worked as escorts or prostitutes. I've met some women with some pretty outside the bellcurve paraphilas Missing: Badajoz.

The Barrio del Campillo? Sweet spot. Lotsa vibes, so vibrant, a perfect hideout for a late night coffee or a cheeky chill stroll. A couple of times I’ve found myself feelin' a real connection to all the souls zigzaggin’ through the narrow streets, sharing bits of your past, your pain, and your hope. "We loves it," I mutter to myself sometimes, thinkin' of all those small moments that change ya.

Fertile Fields, Stagnant Horizons in Franco’s Spain