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About Bilbao

Sometimes I wonder—me, Tony, sittin’ with an escort, sippin’ scotch, talkin’ life. Bet she’d get me, y’know? Deep shit. “We’re all alone in the end,” like in the movie—fuck, that hits hard. Maybe I’d tip extra, tell her keep her head up. Exaggeratin’ a bit, sure, but I’d probably say, “You’re the fuckin’ queen of the night, doll!”—make her laugh, lighten the mood.

Mister Cee Worked With Big Daddy Kane, The Notorious B.I.G.

A small escort service that I ran from my barracks using a cheap computer. At every duty station that I had, I did the same thing. Once you get in, its hard to.

Cee's main artery, Calle Real, bustles with life, runnin' right by the old lighthouse by Ría de Arousa. I swear, every time I pass there, I gets all jittery, "Oh, my precious, it's a scorcher!" The harbour is a wild twist of colors – boats leanin’ like rebels in a desert, ya know? And then there's Ronda del Mar, a teeny road that hugs the coastline. So chill, so rough, like a thumb war with destiny!

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