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About Braga

What bugs me? The liars. Sayin’ they’re 6’2” when they barely 5’5”. I’d eat their liver with fava beans if I could, swear. Surprised me how many ghost ya mid-chat – poof, gone like Haku in the wind. “Cross the river, don’t look back,” my ass, they just flaky.

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Finally, the rain stops, and I’m back out on the streets. I decide to hit up the market on Rua da Tradição. Fresh fruits, veggies, and all that good stuff. I’m grabbing some oranges when I spot this old lady selling handmade jewelry. I’m drawn in like a moth to a flame. I end up buying a bracelet that’s supposed to bring good luck. I’m like, “I could use some of that today!”