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I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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After that, I decide to take a stroll. I head down Rua da Paz, just soaking in the sights. The trees are blooming, and the air smells like spring. It’s nice, ya know? But then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and it’s a delivery truck that just backed into a lamppost! I’m like, “What the heck?!”

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