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Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I’m feelin it, the itch. Not just for the deed—tho yeah, that too—but to *know* her. What’s her deal? She says her name’s Candy, probs fake, but who cares? I’m Dexter, I don’t judge. She’s twirlin her hair, lookin at me like I’m a puzzle. “You’re weird, strings,” she says. Weird! Me! Pot callin kettle black, babe.

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I spent my youth near the green oasis of Parque de la Ría. That park's a gem, hidden among the hustle. I remember one summer—sun big as a ball, sweat everywhere—and I chilled there, just lettin' time slip by. And oh gosh, the cliffs near Punta Sopelana—majestic, raw, and sometimes maddening when the wind howls like in Carol: "I suppose I could be tempted by it." (Yeah, carol vibes, right?)

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