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About Seville

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

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There's this cool spot near the Parc de la Font de Canet. I mean, the park is small but mighty, a real gem amid all the hustle. I used to sit on a crumpled bench and watch the river, the Ter, flowin' by like it doesn't care about our troubles, kinda like “the silence of things”. Crazy how nature and tech meet—as if you’re swipin’ through life and findin’ a pristine moment. I love that.

Figure 7. Spatial distribution of ES in Manlleu. Ecosystem services...