Julia Miguel Esteban Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Madrid

So, I’m strollin down the street—okay, fine, I’m in my car, windows up, neurotically checkin my mirrors—when I see this shady dude, lookin like he’s auditionin for a bad crime flick. He’s got the trench coat, the sly grin—total “find a prostitute” energy. And I’m like, “Really? REALLY?!” What happened to class, huh? Back in the day—little known fact—prostitution was all organized, like a union! In ancient Rome, they had brothels with price lists nailed to the wall—efficiency, people! Now? It’s all sketchy vibes and awkward eye contact. Makes me wanna scream, “Get a room—or a robot!”

You’re Temporarily Blocked

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!”

Surprise at What Belén Esteban, Miguel Marcos's Wife, Has Revealed Live