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About Almada

Picture this: dim lights, smoky air, smells like cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey. Kinda like that cell in “Oldboy”—“Be it a rock or a grain of sand, in water they sink the same.” These gals, they’re sinkin’, but they’re fightin’ too. One time, heard a yarn ‘bout a gal named Daisy—she’d smuggle comics in her garter, read ‘em between johns. Ain’t that a hoot? Keeps ya sane, I reckon, in a loony bin like that.

Zara…HERE NOW!

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Then, outta nowhere, I see this old man selling handmade trinkets. His stuff is legit! I’m talking about wooden carvings and little pottery pieces. I’m drawn in, and we start chatting. He tells me about Tavarede’s history, how it used to be a quiet fishing village. I’m all ears. It’s fascinating!