Ulises Guerreiro:b

He smiled against the microphone.

He loved the stage. It exhausted him, of course, but he didn't let on. He took it with the same calm he always had. As if there was no rush anywhere, not even at a sold-out show.

PAPOTA sounded loud, solid, like a wall of rhythm, the album. People jumped, sang along, pushed it with their energy. They shouted his name—women, men, kids wearing his shirts, some girls perched on shoulders with their eyes shining.

And he is there. Don't worry. With that smile that escaped on its own, he barely approached the mic.

He knew he was at his peak, and he didn't need to think about it. He felt it. It flowed through his body.

But there was a second— only one— where everything went downhill. Or ran away. As if the music continued but time didn't.

And it was because he saw her.

His eyes wandered.

She was in the front row, singing her songs. She screamed, as if she were living that moment, alive. And there was something in his gestures, in the way he moved.

He danced differently. He shone differently. And that caught his attention.

She wore gold rings, heavy jewelry, with style. It wasn't ostentatious, it was art. Artist maybe? He had that energy. Of those who carry something inside and it shows. He enlightened others without realizing it.

It reminded him a little of him.

Paco looked straight ahead. He continued with Dumbai as if nothing had happened. But he looked at her again. And he smiled.

---

—Woo!

A group of people shouted behind the stage, pure euphoria. Paco high-fived several staff members and colleagues.

"Our first Lollapalooza, a success, dude," Cato said, his grin reaching his ears. He gave him a half-assed shove.

Paco smiled. He got out of character a little. He became Ulysses again for a while.

He headed toward the dressing rooms, through the lower corridor, which is full of shadows, cables and empty cans.

But it stopped.

His body pulled him to another side. He ran to the edge of the stage from behind, dodging speakers and black boxes, and poked his head out from between the curtains, searching.

I wanted to see her.