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Diggin’ into it, I’m like, okay, sexual-massage—red flags everywhere! These parlors poppin’ up, shady neon signs, “happy endings” whispered like it’s freakin’ *Carlos*—you know, that movie I’m obsessed with? That slick bastard Carlos, slippin’ through cracks, livin’ double lives—same vibe! These joints say “therapeutic,” but half the time it’s a front. I’m furious, man—people lyin’, scammin’ insurance for payouts! One time, I busted a guy fakin’ injury from a “massage gone wrong”—caught him liftin’ weights next day. “You’re a dead man!” I yelled, channeling Carlos vibes—okay, maybe not, but I was pissed!

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Finally, I get past that mess and head over to the Constant Spring Market. I love that place. Fresh fruits, veggies, and the best jerk chicken you can find. I’m all about that food life. So, I grab some ripe plantains and a couple of coconuts. I’m feeling good, right? But then, I see this guy selling these crazy hats. Like, one’s got a giant pineapple on it. I’m like, “Dude, who’s wearing that?” But I can’t help but laugh. I mean, it’s Constant Spring, where anything goes.

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