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About Fajardo

She’s got sass, man, eyes sharp as a hawk. I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s a survivor.” Reminds me of Sortilège from the movie—mysterious, knows shit nobody else does. “You lookin’ for a good time, pops?” she says, smirkin’. I laugh—pops? Me? Morgan goddamn Freeman? But I roll with it, happy as hell she ain’t skittish. Surprised me too—thought she’d bolt like a deer.

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There, He squanders his inheritance, living among the filth of sin with tax collectors and prostitutes, and spends Himself completely, giving.

So, I keep walkin’, tryin’ to shake off the bike incident. I head over to the Plaza de Recreo. It’s usually a chill spot, but today? Nah, it was packed. Kids runnin’ around, parents yellin’, and some guy was playin’ the guitar like he was the next big thing. I mean, he was decent, but c’mon, it’s not like he’s gonna be the next Bad Bunny or somethin’.

Top 100 Baseball Prospects