OF THE MOUNT SÃO SUNDAYS, ROSELIO OBSERVAVA, AND EVERY BREAST AND EVERY BAFORADA RELEASED THE SMOKE THROUGH THE AIR THAT DICIPATED TOWARDS THE TOP OF THE HILL.
FOR HOURS UNTIL THE CACHAÇA LITER DRY, AND THE CIGAR BURNS HIS FINGER, WHILE HE ADMIRED THE BEAUTIFUL SCENARIO, BETWEEN MOON AND MOUNTAINS, THOUGHT ABOUT HIS PARENTS.
HIS BROTHERS, WHICH WER
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