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About San Juan

My precious! Hiss, raspy throat—prostitute, eh? Nasty, tricksy business, makes me twitch! Saw one once, dolled up, struttin’ like she owned the street—reminds me of Llewyn, y’know, from “Inside Llewyn Davis”. That flick, my fave, all moody and lost—like her! “I don’t see money here,” she’d say, prob’ly, like Llewyn whinin’ bout gigs. Makes me mad, tho—why’s she gotta sell herself? World’s cruel, chews ya up, spits ya out—precious life wasted!

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So, I finally made it to the office on Calle José de Diego. I work as an info worker, which sounds fancy, but really, I just sit in front of a screen all day. But today? Today was different. My boss, Mr. Rivera, was in a mood. He stormed in like he owned the place. “We need results, people!” he yelled. I was like, “Dude, it’s 9 AM. Can’t we have coffee first?” But no, he was on a mission.

Gurabo Creek wreaks havoc after heavy downpours in Santiago