Cic Dario Montiel

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. In the early hours of one morning, a delivery driver pulled up outside Cic Dario Montiel Clinic. As he unloaded supplies from his truck, he noticed something odd—a small wooden box had been left behind on the pavement. Curious, he picked it up and found an old-fashioned key inside. He opened the keyhole and heard faint music coming from within—an old jazz tune playing softly. Inside, amidst the quiet hum of machinery, sat an ancient gramophone, its needle gently tracing a worn-out vinyl record. The delivery driver smiled, realizing that maybe someone just wanted some good ol’ tunes while they worked late. He placed the record back carefully and left, whistling along with the melody.

2. In the early hours of one morning, a delivery driver pulled up outside Cic Dario Montiel and muttered under his breath, ‘What kind of place closes its doors but keeps its lights on?’ He peered through the window and saw an old man in a lab coat humming softly as he mixed something in a beaker. Turns out, Cic Dario Montiel was open twenty-four-seven—just not for patients. It was a secret coffee shop for night owls and delivery drivers. The driver chuckled and ordered his latte, becoming a regular himself.

3. In the early hours of one morning, a delivery driver pulled up outside Cic Dario Montiel and noticed something odd in the loading bay—a mysterious box wrapped in old newspaper. Curious, he opened it to find a stack of vintage medical textbooks with pages filled in pencil. Intrigued, he flipped through the books until he found one on first aid. Turns out, they were from the 1950s and had instructions for making emergency ice cream! So, our delivery guy spent his night mixing up some nostalgic frozen treats instead of calling the cops. A regular soon popped by, asking if there was any new medicine available—guess he mistook the ice cream for a cure-all.

4. In the dead of night, a delivery driver pulled up outside Cic Dario Montiel with a package in hand. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on the clinic’s closed doors, but something wasn’t quite right—an old man, wrapped in an oversized lab coat, emerged from the building and whispered into the wind. ‘What time is it?’ he hissed again, checking his watch. ‘Package delivery, sir,’ replied the startled driver. With that, the old man vanished back inside, leaving the door ajar. The next morning, a curious neighbor found a box labeled ‘Confidential’ and addressed to no one in particular. Inside was a single note: “Sorry for the inconvenience. Next time I’ll use UPS.”