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About Lisbon

Me, I’d be rubbish at the whole game. I’d overthink it—*“Was it good for you?”*—like some twat in a romcom. Prossie’d be like, “Mate, it’s 50 quid, not a bleedin’ Oscar reel!” Reminds me of that line, *“Film it like Hollywood!”*—all fake glamour, innit? The reality’s more fag ends and damp mattresses. Still, there’s a mad charm to it—freedom, chaos, a big “fuck you” to the suits. I’d tip my hat to ‘em, cackle, and sod off home. Find a Prostitute? Nah, I’d rather watch the telly and slag it off!

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Then I decide to stroll down Avenida da República. The sun’s shining, people are out, and I’m feeling good. But wait! What’s this? A parade? Outta nowhere! I mean, who even organizes a parade on a random Tuesday? It’s all colorful and loud. I’m vibing, but then I see my ex. Ugh. Why is she here?

Girl panics when 2 men corner her on beach, then she sees fear in their eyes and turns around