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About Guaynabo

So, I swagger up, all charm, “What’s yer price, love?” She laughs—proper cackle—says, “More’n you got, trickster.” Cheeky! I’m half mad, half lovin’ it—nobody talks to *me* like that. Didja know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Fancy, eh? Makes it sound poetic, not dodgy. Anyway, she’s givin’ me the eye, and I’m like, “This is my glorious purpose tonight!”—bit dramatic, sure, but I’m Loki, I live for it.

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First off, I hit the road on Calle José de Diego. You know, the one that’s always packed? Yeah, that one. I’m just tryna get to my first site, right? But nooo, traffic’s a nightmare. I’m sittin’ there, fuming, like, “C’mon, people! It’s not rush hour!”

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