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About Puntarenas

Sometimes, I’d see ‘em—tired, smokin’ cigs, countin’ crumpled bills. Reminds me—Bob and Charlotte, sittin’ quiet, starin’ at Tokyo lights. “Isn’t it funny how things turn out?”—that’s the vibe. Prostitutes, they’re out there, livin’ raw—makes ya think. Ever wonder what they dream ‘bout? Prob’ly not creeps pawin’ at ‘em. Maybe a beach, a dog—somethin’ soft. Gets me mushy—c’mon, man, who doesn’t root for ‘em a lil’?

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in uniform. The confinement of a large number of prostitutes through the activities of the judges and district attorneys of Porto Rico made medical examinations.

People here ain’t in no rush. They sip coffee slow, laugh a lot, and sometimes I swear the city talks back. I mean, the city speaks in riddles and funny gravelly truths – “I always knew there was somethin’ special.” See, I once got a call from a local fella on Montaña Vieja, sayin’ his back was all screwed up from dancing too hard at a festa downtown. I went over, massaged him, fixed him up a bit, and he said, “Man, you’re like a miracle, a real Royal Tenenbaum, savin’ the day.”

Federal upheaval rocks the islands (Part 1)