The last time I saw her was a few months ago, and she was Rodrigo that night. This evening she is obviously on the prowl – all red pvc, fishnets and...eyelashes. The platinum blond wig against her sun-kissed Carioca skin shouldn’t work – but then she is not looking for subtlety. I call across and she gives an exaggerated wave in my direction. “Eh, Bonitinha! What a surprise!” she calls. My acquaintances in this world are superficial, hedonistic. I don’t have her number, she doesn’t know my. Her mild perfume, mixed with the sweet smell of the sweat. One bead or two of sweat running down her back – which I had noticed a while back letting her in – looking closely at her black bra through the netted black top at the back.An old, disinterested bloke occupied the window seat and looked outside, maybe fell asleep too, as I charted my plans to move forward and try my luck.A jerky take-off followed by turbulence right away had both of us putting our hands on the hand-rest. I felt her. More

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