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Oh, and the stigma—drives me nuts! People actin’ all high and mighty, like they ain’t got urges. Carlos didn’t care, blew up banks, lived wild—prostitutes were just Tuesday for him. Me? I’m overthinkin’, “What if she knows my cousin?!” Total paranoia. Still, somethin’ thrilling about it—danger, chaos, like I’m in the movie. “I am the one who knocks!”—nah, I’d knock and run.

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Puerto Rico: Red light and sex in brothels, massage parlors and sex clubs. Hookers, whores and escort with prices, reviews and pictures.

So, I’m stuck there, watchin’ the floats go by. There’s this giant chicken float. I’m talkin’ HUGE. Like, what’s up with that? I’m thinkin’, “Is this a chicken or a dinosaur?” I laugh, but then I get mad. I’m like, “Why can’t I be on that float?” I could rock a chicken costume, no problem.

A Puerto Rican federal inmate’s horrifying account of what the prison did after Hurricane Maria