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So, escort, man, it’s like—it’s scrappy, it’s real! Started back in ‘68, Ford’s lil’ European baby, zippy as heck. Little known fact: the Mark I Escort won rally races—like, legit tore up dirt tracks! Makes me happy thinkin’ bout some dude in a helmet, smokin’ tires, livin’ his best life. I’d be that dude, screamin’, “Yeah, baby, let’s go!”—but nah, my Escort’s more… chill. Rusty doors, squeaky brakes—character, ya know? Reminds me of that line, “Love is the only truth”—this car’s truth is it’s a fighter!

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After that disaster, I needed a breather. I strolled down to Parque da Cidade. It’s beautiful there, man. Trees everywhere, kids playing, and the smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery. I thought, “Okay, this is nice.” But then, I tripped over a tree root. Classic me! I fell, and my coffee went flying. I was like, “Noooo!” It was like slow-mo.

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