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About Palma

I’m thinking—*“How do you live with this memory?”* Straight outta Campanella’s flick. She’s real, tho. Texts me: “u into fertalizer?” Fertilizer, she means. Typo queen. I laugh—happy as a pig in mud. We chat. She’s growing weed! Illegal, sure. But damn, her pH levels? Perfect. I’m impressed. She’s all—“soil’s my pimp, ha!” Humor’s dark. I like it.

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I remember this one time—seriously, though—it was, like, totally wild. I was giving someone a massage near the calm flows of the nearby, um, river (I think it’s called Manzanares, if I recall right), and a storm rolled in, like straight from nowhere. I was like, “I’m not f***ing leaving until I finish this job!” So surreal.

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