He had a metal pipe in one had and a rag in the other. He raised the pipe slightly and breathed heavily while he stood over us, huffing glue from the rag, trying to feel more at ease with what he was trying to do.
He told us to give him the bag. Guilherme and I sat there, calm as Hindu cows.
“We’d love to help you, but we don’t have a bag,” Guilherme coolly explained. I introduced myself and asked him his name and how his night was going. He just looked at us, temporarily stunned and puzzled. I guess he wasn’t expecting that kind of response. We weren’t exactly expecting him either.
Other than a few (possibly homeless) people sleeping on the beach, there was barely anyone there. The beach was well lit, and across from a busy boulevard, and in a pretty safe, middle-class neighborhood. Even during…
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