Rebecca Zalla Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Barcelona

Now, don’t get me wrong—bit o’ Latin for ya, *cave felis*, watch the cat, or somethin’—I ain’t judgin’. Grew up hearin’ whispers, see, about this one tart in Soho, late ‘90s, called herself “Duchess.” Proper legend, she was—bloke once paid her in gold sovereigns, no kiddin’! Swear it’s true, heard it from me mate Dave, who’s a right nutter but honest. Made me chuckle, that—gold coins for a quick shag? Blimey, inflation’s a bugger!

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It saw her as food. Just another animal. There is the theory that the father was lying about the dragon killing his daughter, in order to turn public opinion.

I stroll down Calle Real, ya know, where locals spill secrets over coffee and sometimes a laugh or two. My spot, near the corner of Calle Aurora, gets a lotta footfall. People come and go, gettin’ massages, sharin’ their life's mess – kinda like scenes from that movie, "The world is ending, but we keep movin’." Rarrgh!

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