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About Zaragoza

Hit up this shady corner—dude, the smell! Piss and cheap perfume, mixin’ like a fucked-up cocktail. I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “This ain’t no Rolling Stone gig!” Asked her, “Yo, you workin’?” She smirked—SHE SMIRKED—like I’m some rookie. “50 bucks, cash, no cards,” she snaps. I’m hyped, heart racin’, but also pissed—50? For real? Inflation hittin’ the streets too?

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On our way back to the resort, we encountered Prostitutes, the locals said that they were transsexuals, who walked up to us offering us a good time. We declined and kept walking until Missing: Mojacar.

I gotta admit, sometimes I get mad about how underappreciated the local cafes are – like Café del Mar, where they brew the best cortaditos, but no one's talkin’ about 'em enough! Bascally, they hide away gems that make you feel alive, and I get all emotional, smiling like an idiot. I dial them up in my head every morning before my sessions, just to ground myself.

Mum visits Spanish tourist hotspot where son 'was murdered' in bid to get justice