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About Brasilia

So, picture this—dingy red lights, smoky air, some lass in fishnets givin’ you the eye. I walked into one once—swear, felt like Gotham’s underbelly. Smelled like cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey. Made me angry, yeah—fuckers treatin’ girls like meat slabs! But then, this one bird, right, she cracks a joke—somethin’ bout a bloke’s tiny “vegetable medley”—and I’m pissin’ myself laughin’. Humor in a brothel? Who’d a thunk it! Surprised me, mate, turned the whole vibe upside down.

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Oh, and init? I sometimes explode with sarcasm ’cause folks don’t look deep enough in its soul. It’s as if every brick harbors a whispered romance from forgotten lovers. My heart, it sometimes bounces in cacophonous beats, mad, happy, sad—s'more than words can spill. I swear, sometimes do we cry with the rain on Rua Esperança, truth spilled like tears!

Kenyan Catholic Priest Drowns in a River in Brazil