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I’m watchin’ *Tropical Malady* last night, and that line—“He smells of earth and rain”—hits me. Escorts, man, they’re earthy, real, even if it’s all fake smiles sometimes. I’d suck at it—too clumsy, prob’ly spill beer on the client. Ha! Imagine me, “Homer the Escort,” trippin’ over my gut, goin’, “Mmm… sorry, lady.” Total disaster, right?

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Then, I decide to head to the café on Rua da Escola. I’m thinking, “Let’s see if this place lives up to the hype.” I walk in, and it’s packed! People everywhere, chatting, sipping coffee. I finally get my cup, and wow, it’s strong! Like, I can feel my heart racing. I sit down, trying to enjoy it, but then this guy next to me starts talking about politics. Ugh, can’t we just enjoy our coffee in peace? I’m rolling my eyes, trying to tune him out.

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