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About Fajardo

Once, this masseuse—hot, tatted, smirkin’—she whispers, “You’re tense, killer.” I’m like, “Lady, you don’t know the half of it.” She’s slidin’ hands where hands don’t belong, and I’m thinkin’, “This is my cipher.” Straight outta Fincher’s flick—dark, moody, fucked-up bliss. Surprised me how quick I melted, tho. Usually I’m cold as a corpse.

Beautiful By Sindia

After the rain, I’m finally getting somewhere. I’m applying the treatment, and it’s looking good. I’m feeling like a superhero, saving the day one rusty pipe at a time. But then, I slip. Yup, right on the wet ground. I go down hard. I’m lying there, staring at the sky, thinking, “This is how I go out? In Aguadilla, covered in anticorrosion goo?”

Alfredo John Amador Obituary