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About Carolina

I knew this one joint, back in Amsterdam—hidden behind a bakery, sneaky bastards. Smelled like pastries and sin, wild combo. Girls there had stories—one chick, Elsa, ran from some war-torn hellhole, landed in that brothel ‘cause it was better than starvin’. Broke my damn heart, Clarice… but also kinda impressed me. Gutsy move. Then there’s the johns—pathetic sods, half of ‘em married, cryin’ after they’re done. “I’m not that kind of man,” they’d whimper. Oh, please, spare me the tears.

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But then, as I’m leaving, I trip over a rock. Classic me, right? I fall flat on my face, and everyone bursts out laughing. I’m like, “Great, now I’m the clown of Adjuntas.” But whatever, I laugh it off. Gotta have a sense of humor, right?

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