THE UNIVERSITY OF GOOD LIVING
After dinner, I carry my red armchair to the circle of neighbours sitting by the railings to catch the faintest breeze from the River Tocantins. Dos Reis, notebook open in his lap and pen poised, studies Zequinha’s fingers, improvising chords on his guitar. They inch identical steel-frame armchairs closer to one another, greeting me with broad smiles. ‘You just missed the (black snake), Dan,’ Zequinha recalls. ‘Fifty metres long!
