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About Queluz

Escort’s messy, chaotic—like my brain on a rant! Drivers gotta be sharp, like “P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way!” One slip, and it’s game over, VIP’s toast! I’d suck at it, prolly yellin’ at the car like it’s a greedy CEO! Ha! Picture me drivin’, “Take that, ya capitalist pig!”—tires screechin’, me laughin’ like a loon! Sarcasm aside, it’s badass—pure adrenaline, no fancy suits needed!

OUTRA QUERIDADE

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First off, I hit the road down Rua da Liberdade. You know, the one that’s always packed with those little cafés? I grab my usual coffee—strong enough to wake the dead. I’m sippin’ it, and boom! I see this guy, old Miguel, trippin’ over his own feet. Classic Miguel. He’s like 80 but thinks he’s still got it. I laugh, but then I help him up. He’s all, “Thanks, kid!” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a kid!” But whatever, I’m feelin’ good.

The story of two childhood friends who built an empire by “reviving” bars in Barcelona