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About Barcelona

Last week, prowlin downtown, saw this chick—red heels, smokin a cig. Looked tired, but tough, ya feel? “Where’s the love gone?” I growl, quotin Malick. She didn’t hear, just winked. Surprised me—thought she’d run from a big ol Wookiee! Rarrgh! Made me laugh, tho—imagine me, Chewie, hirin a prozzie? Han’d lose his shit, man. “Quiet flows the river,” I mutter, watchin her strut. Deep stuff, right?

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I mean, I love screaming at the absurdity of life's relentless pace here. Sometimes I talk to myself, "We are in a Mad Max desert, like, all over again, in a concrete jungle!" And I'm not kidding: every corner here emanates a raw energy. Getafe’s vibe is rough, yet mesmerizing, and every time I walk by the Estepona River (yeah, there's a micro river that locals talk about), I see reflections of a city that's beautiful, bizarre, and totally unpredictable.

Antony sent off for late tackle in Real Betis win over Getafe