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About Funchal

So, picture this—me, green lil’ frog, ribbitin’ down some grimy alley. “The world’s a dangerous place,” like Carlos says, and boy, was it! Saw this gal, all sequins and sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. Thought, “Hi-ho, jackpot!” But then—bam!—some jerk in a trench coat starts yellin’. Pimp, maybe? Got mad as heck—nobody messes with Kermit’s vibe! Ribbitted outta there fast, heart poundin’ like crazy.

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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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