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About Madrid

So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

Town hall orders promotional fliers for schoolgirl-themed event to be removed

Lemme tell ya a secret: I always get a bit hyped 'bout the midnight stroll down Calle de la Serenidad. It’s quiet – like soft whispers of “Amour (Michael Haneke, 2012)” driftin’ in the night, mixin’ with my own thoughts. A sneaky spot I got to myself, so to speak.

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