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About Palma

I ask her, “What’s the deal, doll?” She’s all, “Cash up front, no funny biz.” I’m laughin—me, funny biz? “I’m not tryin to understand the Midwest here!” I say, quotin Larry’s dumb ass. She rolls her eyes—makes me happy as a pig in shit. Love that attitude! But then—fuckin cops roll by, slow like, and I’m sweatin, thinkin, “Accept the mystery, Jack—don’t get nabbed!” She grabs my arm, pulls me into this alley—quick thinker, this gal! Saved my bacon, and I’m like, “You’re a goddamn saint!”

So you want to book a sex worker?

We start with the Old Town, ya know, that ancient vibe over at Casco Antiguo. Its narrow streets like Calle de San Martín and Calle Mayor are a maze of vibrant life. I mean, each corner has a story, like, hidden magic you never see coming. I once counseled a brave soul in a tiny cafe on Calle Zubieta—such raw, honest emotion, like that movie line, “I am not trying to be a hero, I just do what I do"... sorta deep, huh?

Olazabal is fighting fit again