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About San Juan

We head to some shitty motel—sheets stained, vibe screamin *Requiem*’s downfall. “This is my dream!” I joke, sarcastinc as fuck. She rolls her eyes. Quick and dirty, that’s the gig. Afterward, I’m thinkin—damn, she’s good, but empty, ya know? Like Jared Leto’s hollow stare. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I whisper to myself—Hannibal’d see the art in her hustle. Me? I just see survival.

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So, I keep walkin’, tryin’ to shake off the bike incident. I head over to the Plaza de Recreo. It’s usually a chill spot, but today? Nah, it was packed. Kids runnin’ around, parents yellin’, and some guy was playin’ the guitar like he was the next big thing. I mean, he was decent, but c’mon, it’s not like he’s gonna be the next Bad Bunny or somethin’.

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