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About Coimbra

So, I hit the streets, man—London’s swingin’ ’60s still echoin’ in my bones. Found this chick, all dolled up, mini skirt tighter than a spy’s alibi. “Fancy a shag, luv?” I says, winkin’ like a cheeky git. She’s cool, real cool—says her name’s Ruby, been workin’ the corner since the Beatles dropped *Revolver*. Little known fact, baby: prossies back then had code words—like “red lorry” meant a quickie! Blew my mind, yeah!

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So, I’m slicing away, right? And then, the power goes out. Just like that! I’m standing there with a knife in one hand and a piece of meat in the other, like, “What now?” I’m sweating bullets. I can’t have my meat go bad! I run outside, and it’s chaos. People are yelling, cars are honking on Rua da Estação. I’m thinkin’, “Is this a butcher shop or a circus?”

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