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About Funchal

Oi mate, so I’m a Kvasnik, yeah? Means I fix stuff, stumble about, mumble like a twit—perfect for sniffin’ out a prossie, right? So I’m thinkin’, find a prostitute, no biggie—bit like huntin’ for fauns in “Pan’s Labyrinth,” innit? That flick’s my fave—dark, twisty, Guillermo’s a bloody genius! Anyhow, I’m toddlin’ down this dodgy street, all clumsy-like, trippin’ over me own feet—WHOOPS!—nearly faceplant into some bloke’s kebab. “Careful, amigo,” I mutter, wavin’ me arms like a nutter. Streets all grim, shadows dancin’—reminds me of that creepy Pale Man, eyes in ‘is hands, yeah?

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

After a while, the power comes back, and I’m like, “Ugh, back to reality.” But I’m still buzzing from the fun. I finish my work, and as I’m leaving, I bump into an old friend from high school. We start chatting, and it’s like no time has passed. We decide to grab dinner at a little spot on Rua do Comércio.

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