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About Las Palmas

What gets me happy? When it works. Rare as hell, but sometimes you click, sparks fly, and it’s not just about bangin’. Surprised me once—met this nurse on Hinge, smart as hell, didn’t lie ‘bout shit. We hooked up, talked for hours after. Felt like a freakin’ unicorn. But mostly, it’s a cesspool. People posin’, pretendin’ they’re into yoga or “deep convos”—bullshit. Everybody lies, always. “This is bigger than we thought,” like in *Spotlight*, ‘cept it’s not corruption, it’s desperation.

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I run a spa here, so I’m forced to notice every nook and cranny. You can’t ignore the sweet-scented miracle of its parks—El Parque de la Merced. But then again, I once had a sick day there because the humidity was so damn moody. Oh, and if you're feeling fancy, pop over to the Colegiata de Osuna. The Renaissance touches there are almost as pretentious as some people's opinions—yeah mate, I'm pretty sarcastic about that.

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