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About Lisbon

So, I’m out there, dodgin sketchy alleys—smells like piss and regret. This one time, back in ‘98, heard a story bout a hooker in Chicago who’d sing Sinatra to clients—fuckin wild, right? Little known fact: some of em got talents you’d never guess. I’m pissed tho—why’s it so hard to find one when ya need em? Like, c’mon, universe, throw me a bone! Then bam—there she is, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and cheap perfume. “Hey, sugar,” she purrs, and I’m like, “Well, hello, Clarice—kiddin, just kiddin.”

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Then, I decided to check out the historic center. The architecture is stunning! The old buildings, the cobblestone streets, it’s like stepping back in time. I walked past the Igreja Matriz and just stood there, taking it all in. But then, I saw a group of tourists taking selfies. They were blocking the whole path! I mean, c’mon, move it! I almost yelled, “This isn’t a photo op, people!”

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