Lucy Palmela Brothel ❤️❤️

About Coimbra

Last time I rolled through one—don’t judge, bro—it was nuts. Neon lights flashin’, bouncer eyein’ me like I’m trouble. I’m Apollo freakin’ Creed, I must break you! Felt like a champ walkin’ in. Girls chattin’ me up, all smooth. One chick, swear, looked like she could dodge my jab—quick as hell! “What’s your name?” I ask. “Sybil,” she says, winkin’. Sybil? Like the movie? Nah, man, I’m trippin’. Got me happy, though—vibes were good.

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But then, outta nowhere, her phone rings. It’s her mom. She starts crying. Like, full-on sobbing. I’m just sitting there, trying to be supportive, but inside I’m like, “Can we not do this right now?” I mean, I’m a stylist, not a therapist!

As Portugal’s wildfires swept in, this photographer battled to save his farm