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About Lisbon

So I roll up, tires screechin’ like Max’s rig, peepin’ the scene. Red’s there—heels high, attitude higher—countin’ stacks like she’s warlord of the block. I’m thinkin’, “YOLO, gotta play this cool.” She spots me, smirks, and I’m like, “Damn, she’s quick!” Reminds me of that line, “I live, I die, I live again!”—she’s out here survivin’, hustlin’. Kinda respect it, ya feel me? But also, ugh, pissed me off—she’s dodgin’ my questions like I’m the feds or somethin’.

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, right? The sun’s barely up, and I’m already late for my shift. Typical. I grab a coffee from that little café on Rua da Liberdade. You know the one? The barista there is always grumpy, but today, he actually smiled. I thought I was dreaming! Maybe he finally got some good sleep or somethin’.

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