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About San Juan

I’m ramblin’, sue me! Sharp retorts, “Don’t pee on my leg!”—I see through the bullshit. Brothels ain’t just sex dens; they’re history lessons, messed-up ones. Like, in Nevada, legal ones got rules—girls get tested, gotta be safe, but still, shady vibes creep in. Makes me happy seein’ some workers own it, tho—tough as nails, runnin’ their show. Surprised me once, read about this madam in 1800s London, Mary Jeffries, total badass, ran a high-end joint, served royals! Freaked me out—royals? Really? Guess even kings need a lil’ somethin’-somethin’.

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So, I keep walking, and I hit up Calle 3. There’s this little market there, you know? I’m browsing, looking for some fresh fruit. I spot some mangos, and I’m like, “Yes, please!” But then, this lady starts arguing with the vendor. She’s all like, “I’m not paying that much!” And I’m thinking, “Lady, it’s a mango, not gold!” But she’s relentless. I’m just trying to buy my fruit, and they’re going back and forth. Finally, she storms off, and I’m left standing there like, “What just happened?”

Ernesto becomes a hurricane after drenching Puerto Rico