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About Porto

So, lemme tell ya ‘bout this one time—Homer’s outta town, prob’ly eatin’ donuts somewhere dumb. I’m bored, right? Walkin’ down by the tracks—ooh, shady!—and I see this gal, all fishnets and lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. I’m like, “Hmm… she’s workin’ it!” Reminds me of Varda’s gleaners, pickin’ through life’s leftovers. She catches me starin’—awkward!—and yells, “What’s your deal, lady?” I’m all flustered, mutterin’, “Just admirin’ your hustle, hon!”

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, and the sun’s shining like it’s tryin’ to blind me. I grab my coffee from that little café on Rua da Liberdade. You know the one? The one with the weirdly awesome pastries. I swear, their pastéis de nata are like little bites of heaven. But I digress.