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About San Juan

Last week, I’m tailin’ this lead—shady alley, smells like regret. I’m mutterin’, *“Oh, Marge, why this job?”* Suddenly, this gal, she’s standin’ there, all sparkly skirt, eyes like she’s seen too much. I’m thinkin’, *“Her soul’s driftin’ like Boonmee’s jungle spirits!”* I ask her name—Candy, she says. Candy! Ha, like that’s real! I’m all, “Hmm… sugar-coated lies!” Got me chucklin’—these names, always so fake, like Bart’s homework excuses.

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, sun’s blazin’ through my window. I’m like, “Yesss, let’s hit the beach!” But first, coffee. Duh. I hit up this lil’ café on Calle José de Diego. Best coffee ever! I mean, I’m not even exaggerating. I downed a cortadito faster than you can say “Cabo Rojo.”

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