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About Fajardo

Now, don’t get me wrong—I ain’t sayin’ it’s all roses and rhinestones. Some of ‘em break my heart, stuck in a life they didn’t choose. Makes me madder than a wet hen! But others? They’re sassy, takin’ charge, flippin’ the bird to the world. “You’re my favorite person,” I’d tell ‘em, like in the movie, ‘cause dang it, they’re hustlin’ with more guts than half the suits I’ve met. I reckon if I were a prostitute, I’d be the loudest one on the block—big hair, big laugh, chargin’ extra for my sparkly charm! Ha! Can’t sing ‘em outta business, but I’d sure try.

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s another claim. I groan. “Not again!” I’m thinking. I gotta head to Calle de la Playa. This time, it’s a guy claiming his boat sank. I get there, and he’s all dramatic, waving his hands. “It was a freak accident!” he says. I’m like, “Dude, you parked it in a storm. What did you expect?”

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