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About Madrid

So, here’s the deal—findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic. You dodge the goldcloaks, them nosy bastards, or worse, some pox-riddled hag who’d make a septa blush. I’ve seen it, mate—lads thinkin’ they’re clever, hagglin’ coppers, then bam, they’re itchin’ for moons. Me? I’m smarter—well, half the time. “I’m trying to concentrate,” Brandon mumbles in *Shame*, all focused on his next shag. That’s me, squintin’ through the ale haze, pickin’ the peach from the rot.

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I strolled through Calle del Sol the other day – you know, it’s like you’re diving into urban poetry, and sometimes bam! you hit one of those epic murals that scream "Be yourself, no capes!" Times I laughed, times I got mad. The mural – it’s almost like it's saying, "You are the master of your fate!" Reminds me of a movie line: "I used to be a IN... no, wait, I never was." Something like that.

Two great days to visit the Pulpi Geode this November