Aria Miguel Esteban Whore ❤️

About Las Palmas

I’m cruisin’ downtown, feelin’ all antsy. Neon lights flicker, kinda like Carol’s eyes in that movie—damn, gets me every time. “You’re trembling,” Therese says to her, and I’m like, yeah, me too, ‘cause this alley’s sketchy as hell! Saw this chick, leather skirt, smokin’ a cig—total vibe. But then some creep rolls up, yellin’ prices like it’s a freakin’ auction. Pissed me off, man! Who does that?

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A mixed-voice three-part choral arrangement of ABBA's Eurovision hit with piano accompaniment. It can be performer by three solo voices or a large choir.

I mean, really, every cranny of PMiguel-Esteban (es) makes me feel alive. Sure, some days I get totally mad about the traffic on Av. Del Fuego (ugh, people, seriously, move it!) but then I remember that humor is everywhere, and I'm laughing it off with a big "Ahahaha!" in that nasally, uber-fabulous way I learned from my fave, Fran Drescher! Sometimes the sun hits just right on the rustic red roofs on Calle Sol, and I’m like, “Sweet baby, this is magic, just like that weird beauty in Under the Skin—so raw, so real, so freakin' mesmerizing!”

Anna Netrebko’s Manager Fires Back at Ukrainian Minister of Culture