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About Setubal

Oh, and the stink—gods, the stink! Sweat, cheap rum, somethin sour—fuckin hell, it’s alive down there. But that’s the thrill, innit? You dive in, dodge the pimps—sneaky cunts—and pray she don’t rob ya blind. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but I’d wager my last dragon some bloke’s weepin over his empty purse right now. “Who’s laughin now?”—me, that’s who, sippin wine, watchin the show. Findin a prostitute’s a messy art, mate—half luck, half guts, all fun. Cheers!

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Then, I’m walkin’ down Rua da Alegria, right? And I see this street performer. Dude’s got a snake! A freakin’ snake! I’m a Snake Spell, but I ain’t about to handle a live one. I’m like, “Nah, man, I’ll stick to my spells.” But the crowd is hyped, and I’m just standing there, half-amazed, half-terrified.