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About Bayamon

Right, so I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ wine, thinkin’ bout this prostitute case—bloody mess, innit? Cersei Lannister, that’s me, darlin’, cold as ice, “I choose violence,” y’know? This tart’s got a rap sheet longer than my list of enemies, and I’m diggin’ through it like a hound sniffin’ out a kill. Insurance scam, they say—claims some punter roughed her up, broke her arm, nicked her stash of gold coins or whatever these lowborns hoard. Bollocks, I say! She’s playin’ the victim card, but I see through her painted face.

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So, I’m walking, minding my own biz, when I spot this food truck on Calle 1. It’s called “El Sazón de Toa.” I’m like, “Yesss, give me that!” I order a mofongo, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m talking about the kind of good that makes you wanna cry. But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and tries to steal my food! Like, bro, chill! I’m not sharing my mofongo with you!

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