He changed back into his sweatpants. It was 6:00 PM. The workday was over.
He tapped his card, collected his bag, and left. He had been outside for twenty minutes. It felt like a lifetime. um dia qualquer 2020
And tomorrow, he would do it all over again. He changed back into his sweatpants
At midnight, I opened the window. The sky was the same as 2019's — still vast, still quiet, still pretending nothing had changed. He tapped his card, collected his bag, and left
The screen glowed in the dim room. He didn't check the time. He checked the numbers. Brazil was passing 30,000 deaths. The world was approaching half a million. He closed the app and stared at the ceiling. The silence of the apartment was heavy, a physical weight pressing down on the air.
"Hey," he said when the face of his mother filled the screen. She was sitting in her living room, the same floral sofa he remembered from childhood.