"Bom dia! Bom dia! Bom dia!"
The radio voice booms, announcing good morning comically over and over, in a seemingly ubiquitous radio voice I thought only North Americans obnoxiously used. He continues on in Portuguese and although I don't speak the language, in my head he was saying in his thunderous voice:
"Let's kick off your Wednesday with some Brazilian classic rock favorites from the 80's, 90's and today!"
Or maybe my childhood was penetrating the present.
A sweet melody starts, the upbeat tune betrayed by the mournful male voice, undoubtedly singing of unrequited or lost love. The way the words sound full in his mouth make me wish I could understand them even if it might be to wrinkle my nose at the likely dull-witted lyrics. She's just not that into you, dude, get over it.
My arm feels dry and cold where the air conditioning is blowing. At 7:30 am in Brazil, I prefer the warm air of the morning blowing through the car, before it becomes an inescapable heat exhaust fan. But I manage with the cold, it's what I do, it's where I come from, the cold. We arrive a few minutes later and exiting the car, I'm enveloped by the warmth, the weather giving me a Brazilian greeting hug and kiss.