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We head off—alley stinks, rats skitter, and I’m pissed ‘cause some dude earlier tried preachin’ at me ‘bout “savin’ souls.” Mate, save your own, yeah? She’s chatterin’ now—says her name’s Jade, probs fake, who cares? “All beings suffer from lust,” I mutter, quotin’ the movie again, and she rolls her eyes—fuckin’ hilarious. She’s like, “Deep, huh?” Sarcasm drippin’. I’m crackin’ up inside.

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M-m-maybe you’ll explore the old bridge over Rio Coxim. The water, murky yet mesmerizing, flows like lost memories. I swear, sometimes when I sit there, I hear echoes of Polanski's film—"I, the last of the pianists, am alive!" except, you know, not in a heroic way but in a twisted, gritty sense. And oh, I got typos in my head, always racing, always blurring, like forgotten verses of a broken ballad… yeah, like, oh so many whats and wheres.

Figure 4 -Stereographic projection (lower hemisphere) of the focal...