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I knew this guy once—Jimmy, total schmuck. He’d “find a prostitute” every Friday, like clockwork. Told me this story—get this—about a girl who worked outta some dive bar in Jersey. She’d hum showtunes while, uh, “negotiating.” Showtunes! Can you believe it? I’m laughin’ my ass off, but also—kinda pissed. Why’s she gotta ruin *Oklahoma!* for me? I’m yellin’ at Jimmy, “That’s sacred, man!” He just shrugs, like, “Larry, chill.” Chill? Me? Never!

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So, I’m hustlin’ down Calle San Pablo, right? The sun’s blazin’, and I’m already sweatin’ like a pig. I’m thinkin’ about my pottery, my clay, my beautiful creations. But then, BAM! I see this street vendor sellin’ empanadillas. I mean, c’mon! Who can resist that? I grab one, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m talkin’ crispy, juicy goodness. I’m happy again!

José Ramos Ramos Obituary - Bayamon, PR