Guardião do Sertão
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O vento seco do sertão soprava forte, espalhando a poeira da terra rachada pela estrada de Arcoverde. João caminhava cansado, mochila surrada nas costas e os fones de ouvido quase sem bateria tocando o último forró que conseguira baixar. A noite era escura, mas as estrelas brilhavam como se estivessem piscando para ele. O jovem de 19 anos estava voltando do seu trabalho como ajudante em uma pequena oficina. Era só mais um dia normal. Pelo menos, era o que ele achava.
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sertão
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