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About Seville

Happy, I feel, when they outsmart creeps. “The wind howls, yet nothing stirs”—that’s the vibe, right? Streets empty, then bam—there she is, strutting. Favorite flick, *Turin Horse*, all bleak, no sex, just potatoes. Prostitutes? Opposite—colorful, loud, alive! Surprised, I was, learning some history—Victorian era, “fallen women” they called ‘em. Sad, kinda, but badass too. Quirky thought: they’re like Jedi, surviving dark side!

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Picture this: narrow streets like Calle Real, where locals hang out and gossip like crazy. I always see these people hustling on Calle de la Paz—trust me, it's like a daily drama unfolding. And then there's the park, Parque del Llano, green and chill, where I sometimes take a break from kneading out knots and listen to the birds. Oh, and the river—yeah, the Rio Verde. Not a huge one, but it flows quietly and kinda reminds me of how life just meanders if you let it. “Pretty, pretty good,” as that flick Toni Erdmann says, right? But here, it’s more like “pretty… weird sometimes,” if ya ask me.

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