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About Guaynabo

First off, it’s shady as hell. You don’t just stroll up to some gal and go, “Hey, how’s biz?” Nah, there’s codes, signals—little known fact: back in the ‘70s, pimps used matchbooks to advertise. Dropped ‘em at bars, scribbled numbers inside. Clever, but sleazy. I hate clever sleaze. Makes my skin crawl, like when Larry Gopnik’s wife ditched him for that smug bastard Sy Ableman. “I’m a serious man,” Larry whines—yeah, me too, pal, ‘til I’m scoutin’ hookers.

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Then, outta nowhere, I see this kid flying a kite. It was all colorful and stuff, dancing in the wind. I felt this wave of happiness wash over me. It reminded me of my childhood. I used to fly kites with my friends on Rua da Paz. Good times, man.

Archita Mittra Reviews Sun of Blood and Ruin by Mariely Lares