08. Sitting in front, my gaze fixed on the horizon, I finally admitted to myself that my daughter had been right. I was to become just one more
figure in her statistical analysis. The driver sat down behind the wheel and spent a long time in search of something in the glove box. My eyes
couldn’t escape a dense fog in which it was impossible to make out a thing. I refused to see my own end. I noticed that in the hand of my
Brazilian host, there was a metal object pointed toward my chest. With the most impeccable manners, he posed the most terror-inducing of
questions:“Would you like a balinha?”