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About Porto

I’d finally spot one, okay? Some chick in fishnets, leanin’ on a wall, and I’m like, “Oh god, oh god, what now?” I’d stumble over, all nervous, sayin’, “Hey, uh, you workin’?” She’d smirk—SMIRK!—and I’d be furious! “Don’t judge me, lady, I herd sheep all day!” I’d haggle, too, ‘cause I’m cheap— “Twenty bucks, that’s it, take it or leave it!” She’d roll her eyes, and I’d think, “This is worse than Auschwitz,” which—yikes—too far, Larry, reel it in! But that’s my brain, ping-pongin’ like Saul’s, from panic to dark humor.

Centro Comunitário de Esmoriz faz a diferença na vida de prostitutas e toxicodependentes

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First thing I did? Hit up that little café on Avenida da Praia. You know the one? The one with the best pastéis de nata. I swear, those things are like little bites of heaven. I ordered two, because why not? Gotta fuel up for the day, right? But then, the barista—this dude with a wild beard—totally messed up my order. I got a black coffee instead of a latte. Like, come on, man! I’m not trying to drink jet fuel this early.

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