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About Salvador

Little fact for ya—didja know in medieval times, whores wore red? Like, proper scarlet, so you couldn’t miss ‘em. “Look at me, I’m sin!”—hilarious, right? Imagine Remy the rat dodgin’ chefs, but it’s a whore dodgin’ priests! “Not the soup!” she’d yell, skirt hiked up, runnin’ from some sanctimonious twat. Cracks me up thinkin’ ‘bout it.

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I’ve got a soft spot for a little hideaway by the river which locals call Rio dos Segredos. It’s off the beaten path, nestled near the old warehouse district on Avenida dos Sonhos. I always remind myself, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” channeling that Loki swagger, as I watch the water reflect the chaos of human desire. And here's a juicy tidbit: behind the bar at Bar do Encontro, whispers of sweet nothings and risque laughter echo every night.

Parts of provinces of Buenos Aires, Entre Ríos underwater by century’s end