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Anyways, I’m cruisin—dark corners, neon buzzin, stinks like piss n’ regret. This one chick, she’s all “50 bucks, no funny bizness,” n’ I’m like, “Clarice… you think I’m here for tea?” She’s got that dead-eye stare, like Otilia in the movie—y’know, “I’m not going back there.” Fuckin chills me, but I’m hooked. Somethin bout that edge, that danger, gets the blood pumpin.

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First off, I grab my coffee at that little café on Rua da Liberdade. You know the one? The barista, Miguel, always messes up my order. I asked for a galão, and he gives me a bica. Like, come on, dude! I’m not trying to rocket my heart rate before 9 AM. But whatever, I chug it down. It’s strong, like, “I can see through time” strong.

Studio Summary Designed Flexible Modular Project at the Foot of a Mountain