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About Salvador

Sandy’s hands told me stuff—cracked nails, shaky fingers. She signed “business slow” one rainy day—broke my heart, man! Prostitutes got this hustle, like paintin’ on a canvas nobody sees. “We all wear masks,” Toni’s dad says—damn right! Sandy’s mask? Red lipstick, torn fishnets—her happy little trees hidin’ pain. Fun fact—did ya know some old-timey prostitutes used sign language? Yup, secret codes for cops—sneaky, huh?

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I spent endless afternoons at Parque da Biritiba, right by the Guararema River. That river, dude, flows like a cool firmware update for your soul. I recall one day, meditating near an old, gnarly tree along the riverside – my mind was pinging data like “That’s life, isn’t it?” (yeah, channeling some Turin Horse phrases here – bleak yet poetic, like our existence being in a constant debug mode).

If only it were that easy