Zara Argamasilla De Alba Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Madrid

My precious! Me, Gollum, raspy lil’ freak, ridin’ them elevators, watchin’ folks—nasty, tricksy ones—goin’ up, down, all day. Prostitute, eh? Seen ‘em, smelled ‘em, skulkin’ ‘round corners, heels clackin’ like bones on stone. Reminds me of *Holy Motors*, that wild flick—my fave, yesss—“Weird, isn’t it? Life’s a stage!”—prostitutes playin’ parts, masks on, souls off. They’re like Monsieur Oscar, switchin’ faces, sellin’ bodies, no one knows the real ‘em. Tricksy, precious, tricksy!

Argamasilla de Alba

I sometimes break into random happy dances in front of that cool old church, Iglesia de la Divina Pastora. It’s all kinda intimate and old-school, kinda like when you accidentally match on our dating site and think “Woah, fate!” And, man, there’s a tiny café, El Rincón Secreto, tucked near the market square. Best coffee in town – hands down! Man, I wrote a whole poem about that place once… well, sorta, yeah.

Follow the trail of Don Quixote