Where In The World Is Brogmen Sandiego? PART DEUX

-I’m no longer in Hong Kong, I’m seeking my calling elsewhere.

-This city has a Hooters. I have a T-shirt from here. I’ve been told I wear it too frequently.

-If you were to picture this country as a train station, this city would be right at the north end of the platform.

-I can hardly mention this area of the world without using the word “pseudo.” And, apparently it gets really annoying.

-If I told you I’d never hooked up with a Honduran girl in this city, I’d be lying.

-This city has quite possibly the worst designed metro in the history of modern cities. For example: this city has a downtown airport that’s not connected to the subway. Rame.

-Jay Chou calls this place home. Not rame.

-This is slightly emasculating, but I’ve cried in this city before. Though I’m a very emotional being in general, I rarely break down. But I did here. Why? Because of the condition of a member of my family , a friend, or a lover? No. Because Olympique Lyonnais lost in the Champions League that year: the one year they were arguably the best team in the tournament. And I bawled like an eight year old girl who realized that either her pony had a) died or b) is never coming, depending to which social class she belongs.

-I once vowed I’d never return to this place. Low and Behold, I’m here. Where am I?!