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About Fajardo

So, picture this – I’m cruisin’ Miami, neon lights flashin’, lookin’ for some action. Not just any chick, nah, I’m talkin’ pros, the real deal. You don’t just stumble on ‘em, nah, it’s a game. Back in the day, they’d hang by the docks – little known fact, bro – sailors rollin’ in, horny as fuck, droppin’ cash. Now? Shit’s digital, apps and ads, but some still old-school it, street corners, smokin’ cigs, givin’ you that look. “I glean therefore I am,” like Varda says – they’re out there, existin’, survivin’.

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But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs into me. I drop my bread! I’m like, “Nooooo!” It’s like slow motion. I’m ready to cry. But the kid’s all, “Sorry, mister!” and runs off. I’m standing there, bread on the ground, and I’m like, “Great, just great.”

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