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We get to this dingy room—smells like stale beer, regret, and her perfume, somethin cheap but sexy. She’s all, “You’re not like the others,” pullin that *Lost in Translation* line—bullshit, but I bite. I’m thinkin, *This is my Tokyo, my fleeting connection.* Greed’s hummin—wantin more than I paid for, pushin limits. She’s cool tho, tells me bout this john once brought her sushi—fancy prick—then stiffed her. We laugh, I’m like, “Sushi guy’s a dick, I’m cash upfront!”

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Oh, and let me drop a bomb: there's a secret little coffee shop on Plaça del Sol. Only the cool cats know it. I go there on days I need a breather and a dose of good vibes. The barista memorizes your name and your sore soul. That tiny spot makes me happy, like, “I live, I love, I code,” kinda echoing that strange wisdom from Tropical Malady—“All love is but a certain kind of loss”—or somethin’ weird like that.

The Civil Guard has opened an investigation into the theft of copper from the Madrid-Seville high-speed train.