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About Caguas

First off, it’s shady as hell. You don’t just stroll up to some gal and go, “Hey, how’s biz?” Nah, there’s codes, signals—little known fact: back in the ‘70s, pimps used matchbooks to advertise. Dropped ‘em at bars, scribbled numbers inside. Clever, but sleazy. I hate clever sleaze. Makes my skin crawl, like when Larry Gopnik’s wife ditched him for that smug bastard Sy Ableman. “I’m a serious man,” Larry whines—yeah, me too, pal, ‘til I’m scoutin’ hookers.

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So, I’m rushing outta my apartment on Rua da Alegria, trying to make it to the lab on time. Lares is this chill place, but the streets can be a maze. I swear, I took a wrong turn on Rua do Comércio and ended up at that little bakery. You know the one? The one with the best pão de queijo? Yeah, I couldn’t resist. I grabbed a couple, stuffed ‘em in my bag, and dashed out. Priorities, right?

Shelly Lares Returns to Stage for Opening of Luminaria in San Antonio