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About Almada

So I spot her—red heels, smokin’ a cig—total pro. “What’s a girl to do?” she purrs, like Cathy cryin’ to Frank. I’m laughin’—she’s playin’ me, and I’m here for it! Gave me a rush—happy as a clown in a bank vault. But then—BAM—some creep jumps in, tryin’ to haggle her down. Pissed me off! I’m like, “Buddy, this ain’t a flea market!” Almost knifed him—oops, too far? Heh.

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So, I start snippin’. Halfway through, the power goes out! Just my luck, right? I’m in the dark, scissors in hand, and Miguel’s lookin’ like he’s about to freak. I’m like, “Chill, man! It’s just a little blackout.” But he’s sweating bullets. I’m tryin’ to lighten the mood, crack jokes about how he’ll be the next Tarzan. Didn’t work.

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