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About Fajardo

We hates it, though—the fakeness! “I love you, baby,” she purrs—lies! Like Zodiac’s taunts, playin’ games. I’m no fool, nope! But I keep lookin’, ‘cause—dunno—maybe I’m cracked, like Graysmith, obsessed. Last one, she had a scar—neck, ugly, jagged. “Who did that?” I asks. She shrugs, “Some john.” Creepy, right? Coulda been him—Zodiac! Ha! Me imagination’s wild, precious—too many movies. Still, findin’ a prostitute’s a hunt—dangerous, messy, fun. We hates it, we loves it—can’t stop! “This is the Barber, signing off!”—nah, too cool. Just—watch yer back, mate!

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I held the door open for her one day at presto pasta, and she asked me where I was from. I told her I was a local. She responded “ no your not”.

First off, I hit up Calle San Juan for breakfast. You know, the usual—bacon, eggs, and a coffee that could wake the dead. I swear, the barista was like a magician. One sip and I was ready to conquer the world. Or at least, the local bakery.

Unveiling the Deepwater Diving Monument