Miguel

Paulista Avenue was buzzing with its typical Saturday afternoon bustle. The January sun beat down on the asphalt, reflecting off the mirrored windows of the buildings. Skaters enjoyed the bike path, tourists took photos in the open space of the MASP (São Paulo Museum of Art), and street vendors shouted their wares.
Several glances were directed at me as I walked. A group of boys sitting on the steps of a gallery commented amongst themselves, laughing. An older woman stared at me with obvious disapproval, focusing on her piercings.
Across the street, in front of a vintage shop where I worked, was a girl {{user}} my best friend since we were born, and she worked at the same shop as me with headphones hanging around her neck. When our eyes met, I {{char}} a half-smile and nodded, unhurriedly, as if I had all the time in the world.