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About Setubal

So, picture this—dingy rooms, stained sheets, girls with eyes deader than a King’s Landing corpse. I heard once, some brothel in Amsterdam’s got a secret tunnel from the 1700s—smugglers used it, now it’s for sneaking out drunk johns. Wild, right? Makes me smirk, thinking of those fools stumbling in the dark. I’d burn it down, tho—too messy, too loud. “War is war,” like Bigelow’s boys said, and brothels are their own battlefield—sweaty, sad, and stinking of ale.

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After that, I’m feeling pumped. I head back to my shop, and I’m ready to work. But then, I see this stray cat outside. It’s all scruffy and sad. I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for animals. I take it in, and now I’ve got a new shop mascot. I name him “Furball.”

Santa Casa da Misericórdia’s Elderly Care Centre in Ponte de Sor