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About Caguas

Now, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout me favorite flick, *The Gleaners and I*—that ol’ French gem by Agnès Varda, bless ‘er soul. “I’m not a gleaner, I’m a pirate!” I’d shout, if I were in it, pickin’ through the scraps o’ the sea, not them taters in the dirt. Escorts, see, they’re like them folk in the film, “gleanin’ what’s left behind,” ‘cept they’re guardin’ it, not nabbin’ it! Little known fact, arr—back in the day, them Royal Navy escorts weren’t just fer show. They’d chase yer arse from Tortuga to Trinidad, cannons blazin’, no mercy fer a pirate like meself. One time, off Port Royal, I saw this sloop—tiny thing, fast as a whore’s wink—outrun a frigate. Surprised me, it did! “They bend down, they pick up,” like Varda says, ‘cept this escort picked up speed an’ left us in the wake!

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So, I drive over, and let me tell ya, the traffic is a nightmare. I’m stuck behind this old lady who’s going 10 mph. I’m like, “C’mon, lady! We ain’t in a funeral procession!” Finally, I get to the address, and it’s this rundown house. Looks like it’s been through a hurricane or two. I knock, and this guy opens the door, looking like he just rolled outta bed. He’s all, “What do you want?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m here to investigate your claim.” He just stares at me like I’m speaking Martian.

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