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About Lisbon

Clarice… a brothel, huh? Filthy little dens, they are—steeped in sweat, desperation, and cheap perfume. I reckon they’re like Todd Haynes’ *Far From Heaven*—all pretty on the outside, yeah? “A perfect life… until it isn’t.” That’s the vibe. Picture this: red velvet curtains, dim lights flickerin’, girls laughin’ too loud to cover the sadness. Brothels ain’t just sex shops, nah—they’re theaters of human mess. Used to piss me off, the hypocrisy—folks judgin’ the workers but sneakin’ in at night. “What’s proper is what’s expected,” right? Bullshit.

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That’s what I’m talking about! Moments like that make me happy. But then, I see a guy trying to haggle over a fish. Like, dude, it’s a fish! Just buy it! But he’s going back and forth with the vendor. I’m standing there, shaking my head. Funchal, man.

Cyclist in very serious condition after collision with light vehicle