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About Amadora

So, I reckon, escorts—proper hustle, yeah? Met this lass once—ooh, nearly spilt me tea!—she says, “Bean, I made 500 quid in an hour!” Blimey, I’m out here losin’ me socks for a fiver! She’s all posh-like, but cheeky—winked at me, I went red as a tomato! Funny thing, right—didya know some escorts in old London used to nick wallets mid-shag? Crafty buggers! “City of God” vibes— “A man’s gotta eat,” they’d say, laughin’ as they scarpered!

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Finally, I made it home, exhausted but happy. I cooked up that fish, and it was delish! I plopped down on my couch, ready to binge some Netflix. But then, my phone buzzes. It’s Miguel again, wanting to hit the bars. I’m like, “Dude, I just fell and cooked fish. I’m done!” But he’s persistent.

Figure 4. Tea House in Leça da Palmeira, Álvaro Siza, 1958-63