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Oh, and the clap—don’t get me started. Docs like me see ‘em limpin’ in, lyin’ through their teeth. “Fell on a doorknob,” they say. Sure, sweetheart, and I’m Hugh Laurie’s twin. Everybody lies, but prostitutes? They’re pros at it—gotta be. Sellin’ a fantasy while dodgin’ reality. Kinda admire the hustle, even if it’s grim as hell. Reminds me of Llewyn singin’ “Hang me, oh hang me”—they’re hangin’ out there every night, no guitar needed.

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By the time lunch rolls around, I’m starving. I hit up this little café on Rua da Amizade. Best bifana in town, no joke. I’m chowing down, and this old guy next to me starts chatting. He’s telling me stories about Charneca-de-Caparica back in the day. I’m all ears. He talks about the beach parties and how the place has changed. It’s wild to hear. Makes me appreciate where I live, you know?

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