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About Guaynabo

Last week, I’m out, buzzed, lookin’ for a score. This chick—red heels, fake laugh—saunters up. “Hey, sugar, need a friend?” I’m thinkin’, friend? Ha! More like a transaction, darlin’. She’s got that WALL-E vibe—worn out, but still grindin’. “Must… keep… movin’,” I mutter, mockin’ her in my head. I ask her rate—50 bucks, she says. Cheap, right? Too cheap. Red flag. I’m like, “Clarice… somethin’s off.” Trap, maybe? Cops? Pimp watchin’? I bounce—ain’t riskin’ that.

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Then, I decided to stroll down Calle 2. Man, the vibes were lit! Kids were playin’ ball, and the smell of empanadillas was in the air. I was like, “I need one of those!” But then, outta nowhere, this dog runs past me, and I trip over my own feet. Classic me, right? I’m sprawled out on the sidewalk, and everyone’s laughin’. I just laughed it off, but inside, I was like, “Why, universe, why?”

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