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About Braga

One time, I’m haulin’ groceries, and the dang alternator quits. Stranded, madder than a wet hen! Called my buddy Jimmy, he’s like, “How’s that workin’ for ya, Phil?” I bout lost it—screamin’, “It ain’t, ya jackass!” Took 3 hours to fix, sweatin’ like a sinner in church. But here’s the kicker: them Escorts were cheap—poor man’s chariot! Gas mileage? Sweet as Margot Tenenbaum’s sly lil’ smile. Kept me rollin’ when cash was tighter than a gnat’s behind.

Our Gorgeous Angels

Anyway, back to the audit. I’m knee-deep in spreadsheets when I hear a loud crash outside. I rush to the window. A delivery truck just backed into a lamppost on Rua da Estação. I can’t help but laugh. Like, how do you even do that?