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About Zaragoza

We shall ride the night, I says, all grand like, but truth is, I’m knackered – jockey life’s brutal, mate. She laughs, calls me a posh git, which fair tickled me. Did ya know some prossies in Amsterdam got union rights? Wild, innit? Anyway, we haggle – I’m a cheapskate, she’s stubborn as a mule. “This is the girl!” I shout, pointin at her, all dramatic – she just rolls her eyes.

Spain, the world capital of prostitution?

The place is nice! It is big and has a lot of cabins, porn area, steam room with LOTS of HOT STEAM, and a dry sauna (not that hot).

Now, I don't usually gossip, but between us, Carabanchel’s got its quirks. THERE’S a hidden little café on Calle de la Palma—soggy coffee, grumpy owner, but the art on the walls? Fuck, it’s genius! And there's this park, El Pardo (nah, it’s not the royal park, just a regular patch with spunk), where locals hang out for spontaneous jam sessions and wild laughs. Memories here stick like barnacles, and they’re pretty dang magical.

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