I was with my Friday client, a retired gringo who'd come to live in Jacó. Some weekends he'd come into San José to shop for his business and then stop by to see me. That Friday he felt sick — chest pain hit him and his stomach went bad on him, it was really scary! Of course I went with him to the hospital, but they wouldn't let me in with him. So, not to lose the night, I went back to the bar. That's the day I met Bryan. He came up to me, bought me a drink, and that's how it

Yo andaba con el cliente de los viernes, un gringo pensionado que se había venido a vivir a Jacó. Algunos fines de semana venía a San José a hacer compras para su negocio y luego pasaba a verme. Ese viernes se sintió mal, le agarró dolor en el pecho y se le descompuso la panza, ¡viera el susto! Obvio que lo acompañé al hospital, pero no me dejaron entrar con él, creo que porque se dieron cuenta de que yo era menor de edad. Entonces, para no perder la noche, me devolví al bar.

Los días que voy a la cárcel a hacer entrevistas me levanto inquieta. El agua tibia de la ducha, el café negro caliente, el huevo frito sobre una tostada de pan fresco me parecen un exceso. Ese lunes 14 de noviembre del 2019 me tocó ir a la cárcel de mujeres. Llegué cerca de las 8 de la mañana. No había fila. Después de la requisa, una mujer policía me llevó por una calle de lastre. A los pocos metros me señaló un galerón que estaba a mano derecha: —Es una fábrica, ahí trabaj

The days I have interviews at the prison, I wake up restless. The warm water of the shower, the hot black coffee, the fried egg on a slice of fresh toast — all of it feels like too much. That Monday, November 14, 2019, it was my turn to visit the women's prison. I arrived around eight in the morning. No line. After the search, a policewoman walked me down a gravel road. A few steps in, she nodded toward a large shed on our right. "That's a factory — some of the inmates work t

It's 4:00 p.m. Carlos has just gotten home. No one's there. His younger siblings are at their grandmother's, and his mom is visiting his dad in prison (who's serving a twelve-year sentence for drug trafficking). Carlos heads straight to his room. He feels like watching TV to kill time, but before turning it on, he lies down on his back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He stretches his arms out to the sides and closes his eyes, thinking about his party. He wants it to be

Otto loved playing soccer, so he thought joining the school team would be a good idea. A few weeks after he started training, the coach told him he needed to pay a fee for the team uniform. At that moment Otto thought: Where am I supposed to get money, when there's barely enough at home as it is? That urgent need for money wasn't new; it went back further than that. Otto was eight when his father fell for another woman and walked out. His mother took on raising the kids alon

A Otto le gustaba jugar fútbol, así que pensó que unirse al equipo del colegio sería una buena idea. Unas semanas después de sumarse a las prácticas, el entrenador le dijo que debía pagar una cuota para el uniforme del equipo. En ese momento Otto pensó: «¿Y de dónde voy a sacar dinero, si en casa solo hay lo que hay?» Esa urgencia por conseguir plata no era nueva; venía de antes. Otto tenía ocho años cuando su papá se enamoró de otra mujer y se fue de la casa. Su mamá asumió

Son las 4:00 p. m. Carlos acaba de llegar a su casa. No hay nadie. Sus hermanos menores en casa de la abuela y su mamá anda visitando a su papá en la cárcel (que está cumpliendo una sentencia de doce años por tráfico de drogas). Carlos va directo a su cuarto. Tiene ganas de ver tele para matar el tiempo, pero, antes de encenderla, se recuesta boca arriba en la cama y mira el techo. Estira los brazos hacia los lados y cierra los ojos mientras piensa en su fiesta. Quiere que

I don't understand why Mom got together with that man. I was six when he moved into our house. He's much older than her, with a huge belly and a swollen nose from all the drinking. All he does is eat, drink, and snore. He doesn't even bring any money home—he's just a burden. I still don't get what she saw in him. When I was little and Mom left for work, it felt like I was dying. I didn't want to stay in the house with him. I just wanted to be big enough to run away. I tried

Prologue This book is based on interviews I conducted with young people who committed homicide during their teenage years—most of them boys (because boys kill more than girls). Sometimes, as I listened to their stories, I would picture a life unlike my own—walking through those same neighborhoods, maybe standing on a street corner with them, smoking crack or a joint. But it was chance that placed me elsewhere, in a different set of circumstances that led me to become a rese