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About Fajardo

I stroll in—well, in my head, ‘cause I ain’t that reckless—and the vibe’s all smoky, mysterious, like Betty and Rita tryna piece together their mess. “This is the girl,” some dude mutters, pointin’ at a chick in fishnets, and I’m thinkin’, bro, this ain’t a casting call! Makes me laugh, tho—whole setup’s absurd, like a dark comedy. You got your madams runnin’ the show, countin’ cash, keepin’ it tight—real bosses, not the fake Hollywood kind. Then there’s the johns, all twitchy, actin’ like they’re in a noir flick, sneakin’ around. Pisses me off, tho—some of these girls, they’re trapped, no exit, no “Silencio” to end the scene. That’s the ugly bit, fam.

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But then, I hear this commotion. Turns out, there’s a street performer doin’ some crazy tricks. He’s juggling fire, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna burn your eyebrows off!” But the crowd’s lovin’ it. I’m laughin’, clappin’, and for a moment, I forget about my day.

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