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About Guaynabo

So, check it—prostitution’s old as dirt. Like, ancient Rome had brothels marked with dick carvings on walls—true story, google that shit. Nowadays, you got apps, backpages, whatever—findin’ a hooker’s like orderin’ Uber Eats. But me? I’m thinkin’—what’s the vibe? Is it sketchy? Hella sketchy! You roll up, heart poundin’, like, “Is this a cop? A sting?” Paranoia kicks in, Haneke-style—“What’s behind the door?” That’s the thrill, tho—chaos, baby!

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First off, I hit up Calle San Juan for my morning coffee. You know, the little spot with the best café con leche? Yeah, that one. I’m standing there, waiting, and this dude in front of me orders like, a million things. I’m like, “Bro, it’s 7 AM, not a brunch buffet!” Finally, I get my coffee, and it’s perfect. I take a sip, and boom! It’s like a hug in a cup. I’m feelin’ good, right?

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