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About Caguas

So, here’s the scoop—findin’ one’s easy if ya got cash. Streets, bars, sketchy alleys—pick yer poison. Me? I’d rather wrestle a bear than pay for that. Hate the hustle, the fake smiles, the stink of desperation. Reminds me of Saul, draggin’ corpses, mutterin’, “I’ve seen the end.” Little fact—back in ‘80s Vegas, pimps ran ads in phonebooks. Yellow pages, right next to plumbers. World’s gone soft since then—now it’s apps, dark web bullshit. Surprised me, honestly—thought folks’d stick to street corners.

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I get to the bakery, and it’s like a scene from a horror movie. Flour everywhere! I mean, I love my job, but come on! I’m not a ghost, I don’t need to be floating in flour clouds. I start mixing dough, and my mind’s racing. I’m thinking about the fiesta this weekend. Gonna be lit! Everyone’s gonna be out on Calle 65, dancing, eating, and just vibing.

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