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I knew this one girl—Lola, right? She’d strut in, all sass, heels clickin’ like gunshots. Told me once, “Tony, I’m my own boss, fuck the pimps.” Loved that fire, reminded me of Monty’s line—“I’m not the one who’s lost.” She wasn’t lost, mang, she owned the streets. Funny thing—she’d smuggle weed in her bra, cops never checked, hah! Sneaky little friend, say hello!

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We got magic on every corner. You stroll down Av. Central, a big smilin' street where the heart of the town beats. It ain't fancy, but it's real, ya know? Spent a lazy midafternoon sipin' coffee at the “Café do Pôr-do-Sol” near Largo da Esperança, watchin' folks shuffle by with big dreams. Man, that place rings a bit like the kitchen from Ratatouille: “Anyone can cook,” y'know? And that kinda stirs me up with creative pep!

Figure 9. Diamond-bearing conglomerate overlying Botucatu sandstone in...