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About Trujillo Alto

I dunno, man, s’pose I’m torn. Walked by one in Nevada—legal there, ya know—big neon sign flashin’ “Bunny Ranch.” Looked fun, like a party, but then you think… who’s really dancin’? Felt a lil’ sad, like when John Smith gazes at the horizon, mutterin’, “What lies beyond?” Prolly just more glitter and heartbreak, bro. Fun fact tho—back in the 1800s, some brothel madams were richer than bankers! Hustlin’ queens, stackin’ gold while the sheriff blushed.

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First off, I’m cruisin’ down Calle José de Diego, right? The sun’s blazin’, and I’m feelin’ good. Got my lucky cap on, the one with the frayed edges. You know, the one I’ve had since forever. I pull up to the hipodromo, and it’s packed. Like, more people than I’ve seen since the last fiesta.

Dispatch From the Frontlines of Puerto Rico in a Post-María World