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About Lisbon

Found this one gal—*mimes tippin’ hat*—all red lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Got any dough?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like—*mumbles, pats pockets*—“Only bread dough!” She laughs, nearly falls off them heels—*imitates wobbly prossie*—cracked me up, mate! Felt all happy, like when I nail a sourdough. But then—*frowns, kicks air*—some drunk git yells at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad—*grrr, shakes fist*—who’s he to judge? Ain’t his coffee plantation burnin’ down, like in *White Material*. “Everything’s falling apart!” Isabelle’d say—prossie’s life too, innit?

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After that, I need a breather. So, I step outside to the Praça da República. It’s a beautiful spot, man. The fountain’s flowin’, and the trees are swayin’. I take a deep breath, tryin’ to calm down. But then, I see my buddy João. He’s sittin’ there, drinkin’ a beer at 10 AM. Classic João. I join him for a quick chat. He’s talkin’ about the football match last night. “Did you see that goal?” he says. I’m like, “Dude, I was busy with meat!”

Water quality of Portugal’s beaches under fire