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Now, don’t get me wrong, sugar, I ain’t judgin’. Live and let live, I say! But I’m tickled pink imaginin’ her fishin’ with me—two gals, sittin’ pretty, waitin’ for a bite. Maybe she’d say, “I’m programmed for love!”—like them robots in the movie. I’d cackle, “Darlin’, I’m programmed for biscuits and gravy!” We’d laugh ‘til the cows come home. Surprised me how easy she chatted—none o’ that uppity nonsense. Just real, like me talkin’ to you now.

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Anyway, I hop in my combine and head out. The streets are packed. I mean, like, sardines in a can packed. I’m cruisin’ down Avenida da Liberdade, and suddenly, BAM! A pigeon decides to play chicken with me. I swear, that bird had a death wish. I swerved, nearly took out a street vendor selling pastel de nata. Sorry, bro! But hey, I saved the pigeon. So, I’m feelin’ like a hero, right?

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