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About Coimbra

So, brothels—dodgy, right? Used to get me proper vexed—grubby blokes, exploitin’ lasses, ugh, made my blood boil. But then—surprise, surprise—some girls run the show themselves, callin’ shots, makin’ coin—fair play, I say! Like, in Amsterdam, red lights flashin’, it’s all legit, taxed even—gobsmacked me that did. Who’d’a thunk it—gummint takin’ a cut of the naughty biz!

Zara…HERE NOW!

Prostitute, Uniforms, Prostate Massage, Cum in Mouth, Prostate Massage.

So, I’m fuming, right? I wipe it off, but it’s like, “Great start, genius.” I head over to the Praça da República, hoping for a coffee to fix my mood. I order a bica, which is basically espresso, and the barista? He’s like, “No bica today.” I’m like, “What do you mean no bica?!” I mean, come on, it’s a coffee shop!

The bullet in the Bible