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About Setubal

So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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So, I keep walking, and I hit up Praça da República. It’s packed! People everywhere, music blasting. I’m vibin’ until I see this guy trying to sell me some weird potion. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a Snake Spell, not a sucker!” But he’s persistent. I swear, he was like a snake himself, slithering around trying to get me to buy it.