Savannah Amarante Brothel ❤️

About Porto

Oi mate, so brothel, yeah? Shaken, not stirred, I’m James bloody Bond, scoping it out suave-like. Picture this: dim lights, velvet curtains, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I’m a merchandiser, right, so I’m thinkin’—how’s the stock here? Girls lined up like goods on a shelf, it’s wild. Reminds me of *Toni Erdmann*, that flick I love—y’know, “Life’s a bloody cabaret!”—‘cept this ain’t funny, it’s raw.

On 'Drama,' Rodrigo Amarante Reconsiders Masculinity Through Childhood Memories

But then, as we’re walking back, I see this guy trying to sell fake souvenirs. I’m like, “Dude, this is Amarante! We don’t need your junk!” I get all riled up, but the tourists are laughing, and it diffuses my anger.

Rodrigo Amarante And His Great Musical Tantrum