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About Belo Horizonte

Clarice… she’s a ghost, y’know? Floatin’ thru life, half-seen. “A butterfly’s wings,” Bauby’d call it—fragile, flappin’ in the dark. Funny tho, she’d probly laugh at that—call it sappy. “Gimme a twenty, poet,” she’d sneer. Sarcasm’s her shield, I bet. Ever think how many’ve walked that path? Millions, probly—history’s littered with ‘em. Rome had ‘em, medieval towns too—hell, even nuns turned tricks sometimes. Shocked me when I read that—nuns! Wild world, Clarice…

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The parks? Man, Parque das Borboletas is my go-to. Its shady trees make it perfect for ironic daydreams while I work on my inner calm. And near the park, there's Rio da Paz, a little river that flows by like a whisper of nature. I often stop and have a chat with old timers there. They tell me stories—sounds like cheesy movie clichés, but they're real, pal.

Figure 1. Male (A) and female (B) of Podisus sagitta (Hemiptera:...