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About Funchal

Whore’s sneaky, see. Creeps into suits, ties, boardrooms. Wall Street? Biggest whores alive—suckin’ up power, droppin’ morals like panties. Ha! Reminds me of *Amour* again—Anne, frail, whisperin’, “It’s all so far away.” Whore’s that distance—sellin’ what’s precious ‘til it’s gone. Gets me mad, folks—how we all play the game, then act shocked.

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Finally, I made it to the office, and my boss, Miguel, was in a mood. He’s always in a mood, but today? Extra grumpy. He starts ranting about some report I submitted. Like, dude, I spent hours on that! I mean, I get it, numbers can be boring, but c’mon! I thought I nailed it. But no, he wanted more details on the market trends in Milharado. I mean, who even cares about the local bakery’s sales? But whatever, I just nodded and pretended to take notes.