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Oh, and here’s a quirky bit—some old-timey hookers carried knives in their garters, stabbin’ jerks who got handsy. Badass, right? I’d be like, “Righteous!”—total Marlin vibes, protectin’ their own. Anyway, this one chick I saw, swear she winked at me—ME! Judge Judy! I’m thinkin’, “Honey, I ain’t your type!”—but it was cute, ballsy. Prostitutes, man, they’re survivors, swimmin’ through shitstorms. Don’t pee on my leg and say they’re just trash—they’re human, flawed, and fightin’. Now scram, I’m done ramblin’!

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Now, the heart of Viradouro beats on Rua dos Anjos. Yup, that street winds through the center, lips quirkin' with life day and night. I always get a flutter in my soul when I pass by. It's kinda like that line in Leviathan – ya know, when everything's a mess and ya just gotta keep on movin'. Down an alley off there, near Praça da Misericórdia, there's an old building, fulla character and scars from time. I swear, it reminds me of my own battered back from all those long massage sessions!

Black Women from Viradouro Affirm: ‘The Favela is Ours! Respect It!’ [VIDEO]