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About Madrid

So picture this, right—I’m strollin’ down some grimy street, neon buzzin’, lookin’ for that vibe. Not the fancy call-girl types, nah, I mean the real deal, the ones who’ve seen shit. Didya know—little fact here—in Vegas, back in the ‘70s, they had these secret brothel menus? Like orderin’ a burger, but with handcuffs! Wild, right? Makes me laugh, thinkin’ some dude’s like, “Gimme the special, extra sauce!” Anyway, I’m walkin’, and this chick—legs for days—catches my eye. She’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as hell. “What’s your time worth?” I ask, slow, curious-like. She smirks, “More than your watch, pops.”

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Oh, and you gotta try the local pintxos. Seriously, they rock worse than a good ol’ Bart Simpson prank – “Eat my shorts!” They’ll make you say, “This is certified cool, Copy!” while you munch away in pure bliss. I swear, sometimes my brain spins – err, like, “Whoa... epic vibes, epic tastes.”

THE “TXO”: The young Basque cabin-boy