Lauren Aspe Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Valencia

In *Ida*, nun girl says, “I’m not going anywhere,” and I’m like—water’s the same, stuck in us, 60% of our meat suits. It’s in ATP synthase, spinnin’ protons like a SpaceX turbine—energy, baby! Surprised me how it’s chill but savage—erodes mountains, floods planets. Underrated badass. Oh, and it’s got memory, they say—homeopathy nuts swear it “remembers” vibes. Bullshit, I call it, but funny as fuck.

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The team suspects a drug dealer to have killed one of his female clients. The victim however seems to have had multiple enemies.

Picture this: narrow streets like Calle Real, where locals hang out and gossip like crazy. I always see these people hustling on Calle de la Paz—trust me, it's like a daily drama unfolding. And then there's the park, Parque del Llano, green and chill, where I sometimes take a break from kneading out knots and listen to the birds. Oh, and the river—yeah, the Rio Verde. Not a huge one, but it flows quietly and kinda reminds me of how life just meanders if you let it. “Pretty, pretty good,” as that flick Toni Erdmann says, right? But here, it’s more like “pretty… weird sometimes,” if ya ask me.

García Aspe slams Herrera, Guardado, and Mexico coaching decisions