Anna Torre De Moncorvo Sex Escort ❤️

About Porto

So, picture this: my buddy had an Escort, ’89 model, beat-up, rusty as hell—looked like it’d been through a warzone. Thing still ran, tho! Haulin’ wood for my projects, screamin’ engine, smokin’ like a barbecue. Made me happy as a pig in mud—cheap, tough, no fancy crap. But damn, it pissed me off too—broke down mid-job once, left me cussin’ in the rain. “How’s that workin’ for ya?” I’d yell at it, kickin’ the tire like some hotshot in *City of God* tryna scare off trouble.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a shop on Rua da Praça, and guess what? They’re selling the weirdest stuff. I mean, who needs a ceramic chicken? But I bought one anyway. It was just too ridiculous to pass up.

Fig. 2: Display in the Public Record Office Museum, c. 1910.