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About Funchal

Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah. They’re history’s dirty lil secret. Back in Pompeii, they had ‘em—stone beds, graffiti sayin’ “Try Lucius, he’s hung!” True story, dug it up myself—well, in my head. Makes me chuckle, humans never change. Same horny bastards, just fancier lights now. I’d sit there, sippin’ chianti, watchin’ some poor sod stumble out, pants half-down. “What am I doing with my life?” he’d mutter—straight outta Sofia’s flick. Me? I’m thinkin’, “Buddy, you’re dinner if I get bored.”