Spain should come with a warning label. Only my second night here and already I was getting home at 5:25 in the morning, without even trying. Thanks to Nitsa's brainstorm to put three separate dance floors, each with its own sound system, in one small theatre, all competing with each other (during quiet moments on the main floor all you hear is a clashing thud-thud-thud from the balcony salas), I can't hear for shit -- only a pale yellow ringing in my ears. Add in the smoke, the endless beers, the careening mopeds, the errant M-80s and cherry bombs -- this place will kill you, fast.

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