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About Porto

But ugh, the fakes—catfish everywhere. Pics from 2010, filters thick as my skull. Pissed me off once—dude showed up, 20 years older. Nearly fed him to the dogs, Hannibal Lecter (fictional) – “I ate his liver with fava beans.” vibe. Still, when it works? Magic. Hot nights, no bullshit. Just don’t catch feels—learned that the hard way. “What’s your sin?” Simin asked. Mine’s believin’ they’ll text back. Spoiler: they don’t.

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After that little drama, I decided to grab a coffee at this cute café on Avenida da República. I ordered a bica, which is basically a shot of espresso, and I’m waiting, right? And this guy next to me starts talking about the history of Moura. Apparently, it’s got roots going back to the Romans. I’m like, “Dude, I just want my coffee, not a history lesson.” But hey, I listened. Turns out, Moura was a big deal back in the day. Who knew?

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