![]() Once he managed to get up and as I stood there in disbelief, almost laughing at him, with my hands in the air as if I didn’t know what was going on, he ripped the office phone from my hand and threw it to the ground, breaking it into many pieces upstairs. I doubt he was taking the train in Spain, trying to hide in Europe. He must have been heading towards Gran Via towards the airport, which I highly doubted as he was hiding in Europe he was probably going to a bus station around Plaza Espanya. Captions play a crucial role in increasing engagement on your Instagram posts, especially when it comes to showcasing your gangster vibes. The wireless office phone was in my hand and we had just spoken a minute ago or two. Finally he managed to scramble and run up the stairs, madly yelling at me. ![]() It was like another Benny Hill episode, or a Mr Bean scene. I was just standing at the top of the stairs, trying to contain my amazement and amusement at the same time, wondering what was wrong with this bizarre, crazy-crazy guy. In his desperation, he fell back down to the bottom of the stairs when his foot got caught in the side bag again, until he finally removed it screaming like a jackal and tried again for the fourth time. The side bag's strap slipped off his shoulder and jammed his legs as he jumped up again and tried to run up to me once more. He tried to get up again, but he fell back down to the bottom of the stairs. Sweating, soaked, with two bags a luggage in his hand and a bigger side bag across his chest.Īs he threw his luggage to the ground and jumped up the stairs, trying to run up to me, he slipped on the dangerous, tiled, and sharp steps, falling and rolling back into the corner in a state of misery. “He almost broke the window of the front door coming in about two minutes later, as if he was running from Gran Via and the Urgell corner. What would the klika-girls do if they knew her true identity?” She glanced at the scars and tattoos on her hand. Jimena had been a real badass before she understood her destiny. A leyenda, her homegirls told her with pride. She was still down for Ninth Street, her old gang, but at age fifteen, already a veterana. ![]() It felt good to be the toughest chola en el condado de Los Angeles. This time she stopped for the red light, pausing to let the chicas know she didn't fear them. The rain made the dress cling to her body, so they knew she wasn't strapping. She wore a slinky dress and ankle-breaking high-heels. Jimena wasn't choloed out in khakis, a tight T, and long, boyfriend-borrowed Pendletons. She enjoyed the feel of their admiring eyes, their sideways glances and the wonder she saw on their faces. She strutted past them, her heels snapping loudly on the sidewalk. Her reputation was still so big that even tough enimigas wouldn't face her down.
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