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About Rio de Janeiro

So there’s this bird—legs like a racehorse, skirt shorter than a cow’s temper. I’m buzzin, heart’s racin—happy as a pig in shit! “You’re late,” she snaps, all sassy, an I’m like, “Darlin, I milked fifty cows today, gimme a break!” Reminds me of that movie line—“Don’t look at me like that!”—she’s givin me the stink-eye, but I’m too knackered to care. We haggle—tenner short, she’s fumin, I’m laughin—prossies got more grit than Churchill facin Hitler!

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Between therapy sessions and late-night walks, I wrote down my weird, honest rants. Some days, I get so frustrated – it makes me go, "Oh, come on!" – and I see the irony in human desire intertwining with the grim beauty of our space. "There are only two tragedies in life," I mutter sometimes, gutting the old sardonic line from Leviathan.

A wave of immigration