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About Setubal

I’m mad as a hornet sometimes—pimps struttin’ like they own the planet. Makes my blood boil hotter’n a Texas summer. But then—ha!—you spot one, all sass and sway, and I’m happy as a clam at high tide. Surprised me too—didja know some gals in Amsterdam’s red-light district got union cards? Unionized hookers! Ain’t that a kick in the pants?

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Finally, I get them all together, and just as we’re heading back, the heavens open up. It’s pouring! I’m soaked again, but at least the sheep are finally moving. I’m sprinting down Avenida da Liberdade, dodging puddles like I’m in some kind of Olympic event.