Lily Assafarge Whore ❤️

About Lisbon

So, I’m a glazier, right? Cut glass, fix windows, stare thru em all day. Whore’s like a cracked pane—shiny, sharp, dangerous if ya touch it wrong. Makes me think of that line, “The shame will remain.” Whore carries shame like a stench, but who put it there? Not her, nah. Society, man, fuckin hypocrites. Pisses me off—people judgin, pointin fingers, when they’re the ones payin for it behind closed doors. Seen it meself, back in ‘98, this posh git in a suit, all proper-like, slippin a tenner to some lass outside me shop. Busted window next day—coincidence? Ha, bollocks.

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Finally, the rain stops, and I’m back out on the streets. I decide to hit up the market on Rua da Tradição. Fresh fruits, veggies, and all that good stuff. I’m grabbing some oranges when I spot this old lady selling handmade jewelry. I’m drawn in like a moth to a flame. I end up buying a bracelet that’s supposed to bring good luck. I’m like, “I could use some of that today!”