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Oi, mate, it’s Bond—James Bond, suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores, yeah? Not the street corner type, nah, I’m thinkin’ deeper—like in *Yi Yi*, that quiet vibe, y’know? Whores ain’t just bodies, they’re stories, man. Like Taipei’s neon haze, they drift—silent, heavy, real. “Everyone needs a family,” movie says, but whores? They got none, or too many—ironic, innit?

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Next, I decide to hit up Parque da Cidade. It’s usually my go-to for chill time. But today? It’s packed with people. I’m like, “What’s happening?” Turns out, there’s a festival! Music blasting, people dancing. I’m vibing, but then I smell something awful. Like, really bad. I look around, and it’s some dude grilling something that should not be grilled. I’m gagging, man. Fafe, why you do this to me?

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