The Royal is insane. Brainless. Heartless. Mental. It is a stone-cold-restless nerve with attitude. And Joy. And Blood. Grown in Oporto to the world, it is a governmental instrument. Legend says The Royal has no face: an energy blast. It is recalled as problem-solver but one would say the gut takes it to the underworld of sub-cultures. It was nurtured in the wind and crisis: creature of the industry. Addicted to fuel and medicine, enlightened by history and poisoned manifests it springs to life out of necessity and excess. Acts wild; Sits still; Thinks wise; Moves fast & Creates value. It breathes from the eyes and it is thirsty in the brain: hands held tight he’ll burn common-sense and build the future on emotion for everyday communication. The Royal is anxious. It stares with cruel addictiveness. It is ruthless for routines and strives for the perfection of perception. It is kind, merciful and analyst. Loyal to culture, Royal to business.
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