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About Caguas

Her life’s a riddle, like in the movie— “Accept the mystery,” they say. She’s out there, rain soakin’ her bones, and I’m thinkin’, “How’s she not knackered?” Prostitute’s a grind, mate—did ya know some o’ ‘em in history, like in Victorian times, kept coded diaries? Scribbled who they shagged in secret symbols—mental, right? She prob’ly don’t, but I imagine her with one, hidin’ it from the pimps. Makes me laugh, picturin’ her scribblin’ away, dodgin’ the law, “You shall not pass!” to the nosy sods.

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After that, I’m feeling all sorts of emotions. Happy, sad, confused. I decide to walk it off. I stroll down Calle de la Paz. It’s beautiful, but I can’t shake off the heaviness. I stop by a little shop. They sell handmade crafts. I buy a bracelet. It’s got this cool design. I think, “Maybe this will bring me good vibes.”

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