There is a rule. I made it, which means I am the one who broke it, and I am not interested in sharing the blame with the lighting.

I am Beatriz. I am thirty-four. I have a husband who likes this restaurant in Jardins, the one with the low lamps and the tables close enough that you hear a neighbouring marriage order the fish. His name is Paulo. He is kind. He is not the problem and he is not the solution, and I have stopped trying to make him…