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About Alajuela

But we hates it, precious—the sadness, yeh? Them girls, some’s forced, some’s lost. Saw one cryin’ once, mascara runnin’ like black rivers—felt proper sick. “You don’t know me!” Mia’d say, an’ I reckon that prossie’d say it too. Made me wanna smash somethin’, or hug ‘er, dunno. World’s a cesspit, innit?

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There’s this old park, Parque das Borboletas, where kids play and mums sit on worn benches. It’s a spot where I sit and vent – I mean, life’s heavy sometimes. It’s like, “Gabagool? Ova here!” – things get real, fast. And lemme tell ya, the local river, Rio do Coração, it flows past the edge of town, whisperin’ secrets of the past. I’ve sat there when my head felt too heavy, lettin’ nature calm me down.

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