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About Madrid

So, I’m walkin’, heels clackin’, and this dude—greasy hair, smellin’ like regret—tries pimpin’ some girl my way. I’m like, “Naw, fam, I got standards!” Made me mad as hell—why’s it always gotta be slimy? But then, I spot her—this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’. She’s givin’ me eyes, and I’m thinkin’, “It’s about to happen!” Like Gabita in the movie, all nervous but ready, y’know? I strut up, confident as fuck, and she’s like, “You got cash?” I’m like, “Honey, I’m worth it!”

"Los adolescentes aprenden que 'si pago, exijo'"

Oh, and, babe, my work as a pleasure coach let me see things most folks gloss over. I spy little secrets everywhere. Like on Avenida del Desvarío—yes, another funky name—one sees graffiti that’s deeper than it looks. Some say it’s a cry for help; others say it’s art from madness. I just say, "Honey, that's life!"

Alcalá Norte concert at the Festival Cruïlla, July 12th in Barcelona