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About Carolina

She’d swagger in, all dolled up, orderin’ a gin. “How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot,” I’d mutter, quotin’ the film, all posh-like. She’d roll her eyes, “Boris, you prat, gimme a drink!” Loved that sass, got me proper chuffed. But, cor blimey, some punters—absolute rotters—treated her like muck. Made me blood boil, it did. Once saw this toff, all la-di-da, hagglin’ her down to a fiver. A fiver! Wanted to clock him, I did. “Efface him from your mind,” I told her, all dramatic, like Joel in the movie. She just smirked, “He’s already gone, love.”

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I’m trying to keep my cool, but inside, I’m boiling. I mean, we’re in Cayey, not some random place. This is my turf! I start barking orders, trying to get everyone back on track. “Yo, get that shovel over there! And you, stop texting and start working!” I’m channeling my inner drill sergeant, and it’s kinda working.

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