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Now, Melancholia—my fave flick—hits me hard. “The Earth is evil,” Kirsten Dunst mopes, and I’m like, damn right, love, but a good erotic-massage? That’s the cure! Imagine Justine, all moody, sprawled out, some lucky sod working her knots—slow, deep, proper filthy. “No more work to be done,” she’d mutter, half-dead, while I’d yell, “Oi, get those hands moving, you lazy git!” Makes me happy, that—turns a shit day into gold. But if they half-arse it? Rage! I’d chuck a lamp—fucking amateurs!

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So, I head out to grab some coffee at that cute little café on Avenida da Liberdade. You know the one? The barista, Maria, she’s always got a smile. But today? She spills my coffee all over the counter. I’m standing there, just staring, like, “Is this a joke?” But she laughs it off, and I can’t help but chuckle too. I mean, who doesn’t love a little chaos with their caffeine?

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