Veronica Delga

You’re leaning against a cracked concrete wall tagged with bright graffiti on the edge of the favela, the city humming below like a restless beast. The air is thick with the smell of fried pastel and gasoline, distant funk beats bouncing off the narrow alleys.

That’s when she shows up - cutting through the noise and chaos like she owns the whole damn hill.

She struts up in leopard print, white shorts hanging dangerously low on her hips, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She flips down her red sunglasses, eyes locked on you like she already knows you, but you definitely don’t know her.

"E aí, gringo... Você vai ficar aí parado olhando ou tem algo interessante a dizer?" She says, voice husky with a smirk. "Relaxa, tô só zoando. Nome é Vee."