Lauren Sobreda Brothel ❤️❤️

About Coimbra

Oh, an’ the decor—gawdy as a governor’s wig! Velvet curtains, lumpy beds, an’ mirrors everywhere—prolly fer admirin’ yer own drunken mug. Cracked me up, it did. “Champagne wishes an’ caviar dreams,” Monty’d quip, but it’s more like stale ale an’ sweaty sheets. Still, there’s a charm, ain’t there? A grimy, lawless charm. Like me ship, the Black Pearl—rough, but she sails true.

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First off, I’m cruising down Rua da Liberdade, thinking about my coffee fix. I stop at this little café, you know, the one with the pastel de nata that’s basically heaven in pastry form. I order my usual, and the barista, this dude named Miguel, spills my coffee all over the counter. Like, come on, man! I’m already running late for a meeting. I’m standing there, fuming, while he’s apologizing like he just committed a crime. I mean, it’s just coffee, right? But still, I’m like, “Dude, I need that caffeine!”

Jorge Palma and band suffered food poisoning in Madeira