Kilt-y-Ness

I shot the taxi from the bus. I hadn't smoked those cigs the night before I climbed the rock where the green grass grow. I didn't use the pink towel of the neighbours after I swam in Ipanema. I ate at the kilo with Fausto, Joe and Laura, but I never met Victor. I could pass this heart-shaped plant everyday and I still wonder if it's accidental. Eventually I heard about soccer and women. Late in the night in the streets of Lapa, I saw Alex colors turned red and paled by the daunting presence of a black & white girl. Some fabulous music was played in the bar next door.
After hours, days... a tribal team swarmed over the same cobbles gnashing their drums in unison behind the dervished females. To listen, to stare, to focus and to observe that Batucada is a wise riot.