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About Las Palmas

We’re walkin’ now, dodgin’ drunks and rubbish bins—urban savannah, innit? She’s got this swagger, hips swayin’ like tall grass in the wind. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s the predator here.” Surprised me, that—thought I’d be the one in charge, but nah, she’s runnin’ this show. Happy as a pig in muck, though—somethin’ thrilling ‘bout the chase, the unknown. “Do I lie to myself to be happy?” pops in my head—bloody Memento again, messin’ with me.

Population by sex, municipalities and age (five year groups)

I roll by the tight lanes of Rúa Chica, where graffiti speaks louder than words, amirite? There’s raw art that tells stories. In my sessions, clients mention how these lanes let em express their inner selves. Balm to the soul, man… somethin’ like “The world is dark” but then light peeks through, ya know?

Martino J. "Tino" Torello