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Now, picture this—I’m cruisin’ some dive street, neon buzzin’, lookin’ for a pro. That *Hurt Locker* vibe hits—heart’s poundin’, “one more wire to cut,” y’know? Will she rip me off? Will the law swoop in? Thrill’s half the pay, man! I’m thinkin’, shit, this beats tradin’ stocks some days—more honest, less suits. Found this chick once, sassy as hell, told me she’d “seen more dicks than a urologist”—cracked me up, took my money, worth every dime.

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After that, I decide to stroll down Avenida da Liberdade. It’s a nice day, sun shining, birds chirping. I’m feeling good. But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain! Like, what the heck? I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a shop on Rua do Comércio, and it’s packed with people. Everyone’s looking at me like I’m the crazy one. I’m just standing there, dripping wet, trying to figure out what to do next.

(PDF) Hydropneumothorax due to tuberculosis