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About Vila Nova de Gaia

Now, Timbuktu’s got that line—“We are the guardians”—n’ it hits me. Them prostitutes? Guardians o’ their own fate, ain’t they? Dodgin’ rules, makin’ coin in a world that’d rather spit on ‘em. Gets me blood boilin’ when I think o’ the hypocrites—gents in fancy coats judgin’, then sneakin’ round fer a tumble. Makes me wanna keelhaul the lot o’ ‘em! Hypocrisy—worst sin on me ship.

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But then, just when I think it’s over, I get a call from a lady on Rua do Comércio. She’s yelling about a “mysterious smell” in her apartment. I’m like, “Lady, I’m not a detective or a plumber!” But she’s relentless. I tell her to check her fridge. Spoiler alert: it was old cheese.

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