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About Porto

“Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’!” I yell in my head, ‘cause half these gals try scammin’ ya. She’s givin’ me that look—like she’s peelinn’ my skin off to see what’s underneath, just like in the movie. I roll up, tractor still rumblin’, and she’s like, “What’s a farm boy want?” I’m thinkin’, lady, I just hauled 10 tons o’ manure, I deserve somethin’! Made me laugh, her sass—sharp as Judge Judy’s gavel.

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Anyway, I grab a bica instead. Not the same, but whatever. I sit outside, and this old dude starts chatting me up. He’s telling me stories about Melres back in the day. Apparently, it used to be all farms and fields. Now it’s just houses everywhere. I’m like, “Dude, I get it. Progress, right?” But I can’t help but feel a bit nostalgic.

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