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About Las Palmas

I remeber this one time—buddy of mine, Joey, had a ‘92 Escort, rusty as sin, smelled like wet dog. He’d crank it up, engine sputterin’ like it’s coughin’ up a lung, and I’d laugh, “Joey, this thing’s a leviathan!” He’d grin, “Bernie, it’s my whale!”—straight outta the movie, “A whale’s a beast!” That car hauled us to rallies, protests, you name it. Broke down 16 times one summer—SIXTEEN! I was pissed, kickin’ the tire, yellin’, “Ford, you call this reliable?!” But damn, it was freedom, y’know? No billionaire handouts, just grit.

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Then there's Plaça de l'Amor. Yeah, bro, it's my fav! Seriously, even as a sexologist I've seen sparks flying there. I remember one time, I nearly got mad when a guy was totally ignoring subtle signals of affection—so rude! The park near the plaza, Parc de la Passió, is a secret nod to all those clandestine rendezvous. Trees whisper "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" vibes if ya listen close.

Spain flooding: Search for survivors continues