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About Bayamon

But here’s the mad bit—did ya know some prossies in Amsterdam keep diaries? True story, mate—little books of punters, rates, weird kinks. Imagine that, eh? Her scribblin’ bout me later—“Tall git, martini breath, decent shag.” Ha! Cracks me up. Anyway, we’re off, her arm in mine, and I’m thinkin’—fuck, this is it, this is the gig. Not just a quick root, but a story, a pulse. “Seize the moment,” *Boyhood* says, and I’m bloody well seizin’ it. Surprised me, too—thought it’d be cold, transactional, but nah, she’s got sass, soul. Makes me grin like a twat.

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After that, I decided to take a break. I strolled down to Plaza de Gurabo. Man, that place is the heart of the city. Kids were playing, old folks were gossiping, and the smell of empanadillas filled the air. I grabbed one from that little stand by the fountain. Best decision ever! I mean, who doesn’t love fried dough filled with goodness?

Team Bahamas suffers another lopsided loss