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About San Isidro de El General

So, listen, mate—hiss!—I dig around, right? Moscow’s got these shadowy corners—Arbat’s too posh, but Kitay-gorod? Oof, goldmine! Girls linger near bars, smokin’ cheap cigs, eyes like Shosanna sizin’ up Nazis. “What’s your price, precious?” I mutter, all sly. One gal—Lena, maybe?—says 5,000 rubles, hour tops. Bargain, yeah? But I’m thinkin’, “That’s a bear trap, Gollum, she’s robbin’ ya blind!” Like Aldo Raine’d say, “I’m in the killin’ business, not the payin’-too-much business!” Haggled her down—3,500, boom! Felt like a king, I did—happy as a hobbit with second breakfast.

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I’m a family psych, ya know, so I dig into emotions and quirks. I seen families argue over trivial stuff near the big monument, El Coloso, at the corner of Sur and Mar streets. It’s like they’re spouting lines from deep id forest somewhere… makes me laugh, get mad, and sometimes feel warm inside. The irony is palpable, man.

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