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About Palma

I spot one—red heels, smokin’ a cig—real cool, like she owns the block. I’m thinkin’, “Homer, you big lug, don’t stare!” But—D’oh!—she winks, and I’m sweatin’ like a pig in a bacon factory. Costs? Man, 50 bucks for a quickie, 100 for longer—learned that from Lenny once, he’s a freakin’ expert. Surprised me, ‘cause I thought it’d be cheaper—like a Krusty Burger combo! Ha! “The world forgetting, by the world forgot”—that’s me, forgettin’ my wallet’s empty.

Prostitution

Down by l’Ebre River—oh, sorry, it’s actually a small stream that runs behind the old castle—you get this vibe of ancient mystery. Man, as a family psychologist, I see families interact in parks like Parc del Castell. Their secrets spill as freely as the wind on these cobbled streets. It’s maddening sometimes how truth surfaces when you least expect it.

Sweatshop factory exploiter paid vulnerable foreign workers a pittance in Spain’s Alicante area