chapter 72

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72

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72

Early Sunday morning, she decided she would take a trip to the farmer's market.

She put on a head scarf, big sunglasses and took a star handbag. She did't want anyone to recognize her, nor did she want to be very out of place either so she wore a simple dress.

This time, she took the city bus. She had a yearning to feel life again. Not just the artificial conditions of her home life. It was something about coming so close to death, that renewed your sense of purposed and taste for life, perhaps. But it was absolutely sure that it gave her a new perspective.

She knew she needed to get out of the house, and shift her perspective a bit more. Get out of her head. So this was perfect.

Once again, her senses wee overtaken by the morning. The foreign noises and colours and smells, made her feel otherworldly. She was starting to love the people of Brazil. Amongst all the violence and danger, there was also a warmth, unlike that of America. A certain love of live and of people that made her feel more human.

She wandered the different booths, taking her time, even tasting some things. She bout a couple of clementines, because she could.

She watched locals in nearby cafes smoke, watching her. It was very European at times. She also looked at the kids, running around and screaming.

Some men eyed her, but never approached her.

Watching the younger girls, some like her; some older and younger, she wondered about their life. Their opportunities. Their loves.

She was struck again by how different yet how similar they all were. And she'd belying if she said that Zico would't have made a better match with one of them. She was too far out of their realm. They'd never see her as one of their own. Never accept her, at least not fully, even if he did.

And from her side, she realized how extraordinary her situation was. And even I she did accept him, which in er heart she did a lone time ago, it would never one fully met with open arms in her 'circles'. Which circles, she did't really know considering she wasn't much a part of them anymore, din't feel the need to. But she recognized that all the people that helped raise her were of a different sort, in a way.

She spent half the morning wondering the aisles and buying little tidbits here and there. When she felt she was done, she stopped at nearly cafe and grabbed an espresso.

Then, washing her fruits at one of the market sinks, she took a short walk to the beach and laid out her mandala blanket / tapestry on the sand.

She sat out and observed the dailies, lout on a Sunday. Involuntarily, she flashed back to the night they spent on the beach, and into the morning. In her mind she recalled their footsteps. From the party to the beach, from the beach to his apartment. His apartment to the cafe and back.

She almost fell asleep, closing her eyes only for a moment, but something inside of her wouldn't rest. She pulled out her phone, and as soon as she did she regretted it.

There it was, again. Not on her post, but his friends. His story, posting about a gathering of them, and there they were for a moment, together. He was sitting in a chair, and she was sitting on the edge of it, as if she was trying to get even closer. Trying to take her place. They were probably all getting high, and she was more willing to do it than Clementine, so maybe it was all so fitting now!

She was starting to feel sick. So she gathered up her things and got up to head home. Following the movement of the sun, always following the sun.

GO TO CHAPTER 73A

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