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About Las Palmas

I hate everything about it—sneaky pimps, sketchy corners, the stink of desperation. Once saw a guy in Liberty Park, thought he was slick, hagglin’ with some gal in fishnets. Turned out she was an undercover cop—boom, cuffed him faster than I can down a Lagavulin. Laughed my ass off, stupid bastard deserved it. Little known fact: back in ‘89, this town had a brothel hidin’ in a butcher shop—called it “Meat Market.” Cops raided it, found a ledger with half the council’s names. Surprised? Nah, pissed me off—hypocrites everywhere.

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Oh honey—Cala-Rajada is just fab, I swear! So lemme tell ya, we're talkin' narrow cobblestoned streets, tiny plazas, and secret spots that make ya go "oh my gosh!" Like, right off Avenida del Mar, you hit this cute little bistro that smells like fresh basil and sea salt. I love strollin' through Calle del Sol, where locals gather and gossip like a bunch of old pals. It's all natural, ya kno?

Is Mallorca quiet or is it me?