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About Lisbon

I’m sizin her up, thinkin, “She’s got game, this one.” Reminds me of *Boyhood* again—“You don’t pick who ya love,” or who ya pay, I guess. I’m happy as hell—finally scored, no more wanderin like a lost dog. But then she quotes me a price, and I’m like, “Fuck me, that’s steep!” Nearly choked on my own spit—surprised the shit outta me. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growl, half-jokin, half-testin her. She don’t flinch—tough as nails, this chick.

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So, I hit the streets, right? First stop, Café Central on Rua da Liberdade. Best coffee in town, no cap. I order my usual, a galão, and the barista, Maria, she’s like, “You again?” LOL, yeah, I’m addicted. But then, she spills it! All over the counter! I’m like, “Bruh, my caffeine fix!” But she laughs it off, and I can’t help but laugh too.

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