rapido velocidade

three and a half minutes on the back of a moto-taxi, you can see our whole favela in fast forward. not a second to take a picture, hanging on for dear life, your white knuckled grip tighter after loving beers and a couple of shots of tequila earlier in the evening. the night sky neon blurs past, you tuck your knees in tight, trying not to shatter a knee cap as you fly by just inches from the next motorcycle, bus, mini-van, or delivery truck. music shouts and then fades quickly as you lean into the next turn, and dart up the hill. the same "S" shape a dozen or so times, feels like the ride of your life, but it's just the ride of that night, for 2 reals, or 90 cents. beer and water flow into the streets and you try not to think of the slick road. in the walls of concrete that line the streets there are little slivers of barber shops, nail salons, all-night mechanics, pharmacies, and produce stands. swerving to avoid potholes, chickens, and the half dozen other motorcycles in our ten foot radius. you look behind you, trying to keep the delicate balance, and like a shot from a pistol, a canon, or a waterslide, you're home. finding your land legs once again, you steady, and smile. wishing you could do it all again because you missed so much. shed no tears, because there is tomorrow.