Megan Tabuaco Brothel ❤️❤️

About Braga

Me, I’d waltz in, all charm—*burdened with glorious purpose*—and they’d be like, “Who’s this posh git?” I’d sip their rubbish ale, smirking. Once saw a brothel in Soho—dodgy place, sticky floors, girls eyeing ya like wolves. One lass, cheeky as hell, says, “Fancy a tumble, love?” I’m like, “Darling, I’m a god, not desperate.” She laughed—good sport, that one. Made me happy, her sass—rare spark in that dump.

What to visit?

Finally, I get my stuff and head to the park by the river. It’s called Parque da Cidade, and it’s usually my happy place. But today? It’s full of kids screaming and running around. I’m like, “Can’t a guy just chill?” I find a bench, plop down, and try to breathe. But then, this kid runs by and spills his ice cream all over my shoes! Ugh! I’m like, “Really, kid?!”

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