Guest House Paradiso -
"But we're still here, aren't we?" Eddie whispered. "The fish are dead. We're still standing."
The sun set over the cliffside at Guest House Paradiso, not with the warm glow of a postcard, but with the bruised purple of a fresh injury. Inside, Richie and Eddie moved through the halls like ghosts haunting their own lives—two men trapped in a cycle of spectacular violence and profound, unacknowledged loneliness. Guest House Paradiso
There was a quiet moment—a rarity in a house built on screams. "But we're still here, aren't we
"No. The ones on the plates. They’re just like us. Caught, gutted, and served up to people who don't even know their names." "But we're still here
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