Black has never suited me so well

Para ler em português clique aqui

On a cloudy day in Rio de Janeiro I was in my usual “uniform” shirt and leggings, both black. The long hair loose, the fierce leopard moccasin ,  carmine moutha nd the first bag I saw ahead, by the way, the same as yesterday.
Walking quickly and with a coffee in hand, nothing more habitué, I didn’t look sideways. Drops of rain drains wet my hair, I limit myself to listen to the sound coming out of the headphones and continue the path.
Behold the rain arrives. I gather under some awning, and from my purse I pick up an umbrella. Not one of those long-handled and printed, but a standard, and why not say, a Chinese umbrella. A black one.
I look around, I highlight among a riot of colors. The  shop windows announce the welcome spring,  bright greens and oranges, neon signs that blind in broad daylight. The pedestrian, somewhat slow due to umbrellas traffic, also seem to forget that winter is not over yet.
Now, the black, which  guarded me, enlightens me out of a crowd that chooses a different color every season.

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