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About Fajardo

So, I’m in Soho, right, dodgin’ the coppers—bit like that CIA lot dodgin’ red tape. “We’re goin’ dark,” I growl, feelin’ all cinematic. Saw this bird, yeah, leanin’ by a lamppost—thought, “Blimey, she’s the target!” Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—then bam, she’s chargin’ fifty quid! Fifty! I’m fumin’, mate—daylight robbery, that is. “This is the kill zone,” I hiss, tryna barter like some prat in a souk. She just laughs—cheeky mare—says, “Take it or sod off, guv.”

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On the evening of Sunday, September 5, a Costa Rican tourist was vacationing in El Coco, in the canton of Carrillo, when she overheard a foreigner asking a restaurant waiter to help him “get .

I decide to hit up the local market on Calle 2. It’s a vibe, man. Fresh fruits, handmade crafts, and the smell of street food everywhere. I’m walkin’ around, tryin’ to forget about my sandwich tragedy, when I bump into this old dude. He’s sellin’ coconuts, and I’m like, “Why not?” I grab one, and he hands me a machete. I’m thinkin’, “What am I supposed to do with this?” But hey, I’m a sailor, I can handle it.

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