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About Brasilia

So, I’m in Soho—grimy streets, neon buzzin’. This bird, right, she’s leanin’ on a lamppost, skirt hiked up. I’m thinkin’, “What’s her play?”—all theatrical, like Caden Cotard’s mad life. I saunter over, grin sharp as a blade. “Fancy a mischief?” I ask, all charm. She laughs—rough, smoky, real. “Tenner for a quickie,” she says. Tenner! I’m gobsmacked—thought it’d be pricier, ya know?

Is prostitution illegal in Malaysia? You might be blown by the answer.

Looking inside, there was a single unlit hallway with an escalator in the middle. Then I noticed a sorta "red" ambience coming off the first floor. I got closer and I observed a line of four women .

Oh shit, I gotta mention the river—Rio das Palavras, babey! Its waters flow slow and deep, like the heartbeat of the city. I often took midnight strolls along its banks where the lights from the old bridge, Ponte dos Sonhos, shimmered, remindin’ me of that movie line, “You ever think, boy, what if we never speak again?” Crazy existential feels hit me then and there.

China enters auto manufacturing industry in Brazil, acquiring Mercedes-Benz plant