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I’m ramblin’, but Lila—she’s a puzzle. She’s got this smile, like she’s in on a joke you ain’t heard yet. Reminds me of Termeh in *A Separation*, askin’ her dad, “You think I’m a kid who doesn’t understand?” Lila understands plenty—sees through folks’ BS like it’s glass. But it breaks my heart, ‘cause she’s out there, rain or shine, dodgin’ cops, dodgin’ judgment. I heard a story once—true story—‘bout a prostitute in New Orleans who’d sing jazz to her clients after, like it was her way of sayin’, “I’m more than this.” Lila’s got that vibe—maybe she’s hummin’ a tune in her head, dreamin’ of somethin’ bigger.

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Then I decide to check out the market at Praça da República. I love that place! Fresh fruits, veggies, and all the local gossip. But guess what? It’s packed! I mean, who knew everyone in Salvaterra-de-Magos had the same idea? I’m elbowing my way through, trying to grab some oranges. And this old lady, bless her heart, she’s got a cart full of stuff and she’s just blocking the way. I’m like, “C’mon, lady! I just need some oranges!”

Fig. 27-Escavações de 1952 do concheiro da Moita do Sebastião. Visita...