"The world is waiting, Jorge!" she laughed, spinning around. "Music, dancing, people who don't spend their lives looking at the pavement. I want to live."

Jorge nodded sadly. He stood up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills—his earnings from the day. He pressed them into her hand.

Jorge stepped into the room. He didn’t try to grab her arm or block the door. Instead, he sat on the edge of her bed.

"I am afraid for you ," he replied. "The world is a mill, Alice. O mundo é um moinho. It doesn't care if you are beautiful or if your heart is pure. It just turns. It grinds your dreams into dust before you even realize you’ve been used."