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About Madrid

Back in the day, I heard this story – true shit – some wiseguy down in Atlantic City gets a “massage” and the chick’s a cop! Bada-bing, he’s cuffed, balls out, lookin’ like a stunad. Made me laugh my ass off, but also pissed me off – entrapment much? Sexual-massage got this vibe, see? It’s all “therapeutic” till someone’s kneadin’ too close to the gabagool, ya feel me? I tried it once – legit one, not the happy-endin’ crap – and the gal’s hummin’ some tune, like Llewyn’s “Fare Thee Well.” I’m layin’ there, thinkin’, “Hang me, oh hang me, this ain’t worth the 80 bucks!”

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I gotta say, I sometimes feel in a hurry, my mind racing between deadlines and the rhythm of Alcoy. So many moments hit me hard; once, I almost burst into tears outside a little bodega on Av. de Madrid – too much beauty, too much history, too many memories colliding. I might type with 11 typos if I had time: livfe, shppe, reall, irrrest, knd, hapy, soa, wrd, amzing, thrilng, lfe.

After 400 years the Augustinian Discalced left their convent in Alcoy to be integrated in the monastery of Benigánim.