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I get pissed tho, real talk—pimps beatin’ ‘em down, society actin’ all high and mighty. Like, who gives a shit if she’s sellin’ pussy? Let her live! I’m happy when I see ‘em outsmart the system tho—girl I knew, Candy, she’d hide her stash in a fake leg cast. Genius! Surprised me how deep it gets—some of ‘em got kids, dreams, all that. Makes me think, yo, what’s the line between survival and chaos? *Margaret* shit again—“It’s not my fault!”—they prolly say that in their heads every damn night.

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Meanwhile, seven locals die: conservative Catholic matriarch and very powerful lady, Quitéria Campolargo; corrupt lawyer Cícero Branco; Spanish anarchist shoemaker Barcelona; .

Then, I decide to head to the park, Parque da Cidade. I need to clear my head. I’m walking, and the smell of grilled sardines hits me. I’m like, “Yes, please!” I grab a plate, and it’s like heaven on a stick. I’m munching away, and this old lady next to me starts chatting. She’s telling me about the good ol’ days in Vilela. I’m laughing, and she’s like, “You young folks don’t know what’s good.” I’m thinking, “Lady, I’m literally eating your good stuff right now!”

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