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About Barcelona

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whores, them gals in Russian Sign Language—da hands flyin’ like missiles! Whore, see, it’s a word, gets folks riled up, makes me madder’n a wet hen. I reckon it’s ‘cause it’s slung ‘round like mud on a pig farm. Fool me once, shame on—uh, you know, shame on somebody! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, I’m sharp as a tack—well, maybe a dull one.

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Man, the park near La Iglesia is my jam. It's tiny but full of heart, kinda like the soulful tunes in Inside Llewyn Davis. "Life will pass you by if you don't stop and look around once in a while," ya know? That line hits home here every damn day. And anyway, there's this river—El Río del Sur—that cuts through the outskirts. Beats me how calm it is, yet it's like the pulse of the city, steady and deep.

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