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About Fortaleza

I saunter up, all charm, “shaken, not stirred,” voice smooth as silk. She’s givin me the eye—prolly thinks I’m loaded, which, fair, I look it. “How much, love?” I ask, casual, but inside I’m buzzin—happy as a pig in shit. She names a price, I’m like, “fuckin steep, that!”—but I play it cool, cos Bond don’t haggle like a twat. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got windows for this—legal, tidy, no messin about. Here? It’s a gamble, mate—cops, pimps, the lot.

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She saved up money from her work as a prostitute and added the funds she received from her father's pension scheme upon his death. She did not travel alone to.

Man, I'm always buzzing on energy. I've seen lovers chat under neon lights on Rua do Sol. Sometimes, I freak out with my own thoughts—too many apps, too many souls. Life’s a mix, messed up and beautiful. Like when I work late debugging code and then stroll down Avenida das Américas—my life, heart racing like a mad drumbeat, LOL.

Profile: Inter's maestro, Jose Mourinho