Gringo walks into the bar. Bar de pe sujo, ta ligado? He looks to the flag on the wall and says, “Não vejo nem ordem nem progresso.” He doesn’t really mean it. Well maybe just a little at least naquele bairro. But he was an open sore. A wounded bird. A woman got to him. Again.
He remembers beer, some punks, and waking up in the street…tava na favela, sabe?..He now has a nice eight-point scar where his head was cracked open, and until he forgets, is a firm believer in the buddy system.