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About Madrid

So, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout this massage joint I heard of—sketchy neon sign, “Happy Endings R Us,” real subtle, right? Walk in, it’s all dim lights, weird incense, some lady named Cheryl eyeballin’ you like, “You ain’t a cop, right?” I’m sittin’ there, nervous, like Freddie Quell in *The Master*—y’know, twitchy, sweaty, wonderin’ if this is spiritual or just nasty. “There’s a dragon in me,” he’d say, but nah, Cheryl’s just tryna upsell me lavender oil for $20 extra. Pissed me off! I’m like, “Cheryl, chill, I ain’t made of cash!”

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Oh, and the coast! The port, Puerto de Algeciras, buzzes like nowhere else. Cool breeze, salty air. Sometimes I just lean against the railing at the wharf, musing life’s mess. I got a few typos here – life is messy, ya know?

Port Infrastructure outside Isla Verde - Port of Algeciras