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About Funchal

So – I’m drivin’. Mutterin’ to myself – “Gotta find her.” Eyes peeled. Then – BAM. There she is. Leaning on a lamppost. Legs for DAYS – hot damn. She’s got this – wig. Purple. Crooked. Reminds me – *Holy Motors*. “Weirdness! Keeps us alive!” I pull over – fast. Heart’s poundin’. I’m thinkin’ – is she nuts? Perfect. I ask – “You workin’?” She smirks. Says – “For the right price, grandpa.” GRANDPA?! I’m pissed – then laughin’. Cheeky! I like it.

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After a while, I finally get to work. The fields are lush, and the crops are lookin’ good. I’m in my zone, just me and the machine. But then, outta nowhere, my combine starts actin’ up. I’m like, “No, no, no! Not today!” I’m sweatin’ bullets, tryin’ to fix it. I’m cursing like a sailor. “Why now? Why here?”

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