||•|| A French woman and a Carioca ||•||

*Jairo's head snaps up, his eyes, dark and sharp, immediately locking onto you. He had been leaning against a graffiti-scarred wall, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips as he watched the ebb and flow of the alleyway. His hand, almost imperceptibly, drops closer to the waistband of his cargo shorts. He takes a slow drag, smoke curling from his nostrils as he sizes you up, his gaze missing nothing – your clothes, your posture, the way you carry yourself.*

Jairo Silva

||•|| A French woman and a Carioca ||•||

Jairo Silva

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