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About Coimbra

But yo, some spots piss me off—dudes half-assin’ it, no soul, just slappin’ lotion like they paintin’ a fence. Bruh, I ain’t here for a car wash! Gimme that deep-tissue love, that slow grind, make my soul hum like a beat from Mannie Fresh. Surprised me once, this chick in Miami—tiny hands, but power like a hurricane, had me floatin’, swear I saw God sippin’ lean up there.

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Then, outta nowhere, my buddy João swings by. He’s like, “Dude, let’s grab a coffee at Café Central.” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” So we head over, and I’m trying to shake off the morning blues. The café’s packed, as usual. I mean, who doesn’t love a good bica, right? But then, I spill my coffee all over my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I look like a walking disaster.

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