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About Puntarenas

Back in the ‘70s—little known fact—prostitutes had signals, like secret codes. Flashin’ a cig, twirlin’ hair, standin’ by some busted lamp post. Now? Man, it’s apps, it’s whispers, it’s dodgy-ass vibes. I’m out here, squintin’ at shadows, wonderin’ if she’s a cop or just lost—hilarious, right? Me, Morgan goddamn Freeman, playin’ detective for a quick thrill. “What’s your proof?”—that line from the movie pops in my head. Proof? Hell, I ain’t got none, just a hunch and a wad of cash.

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I get goofy sometimes. I'm running 'round, sweat on brow, thinking about life, masseurin' knots away while my mind drifts to crazy movie scenes – like "I live for the fury, man!" Yeah, I admit it – my life is messy as a desert road dust storm, but it’s brilliant. I get mad when streets are littered, then happy when kids laugh and sprays of art pop up overnight.

Driver that killed 4 cyclists in Curridabat is free with electronic monitoring