He had been there for almost an hour, at that sidewalk drink shack at the edge of the road. He was sipping on the Caipirinha he had ordered 8 minutes earlier, already down about a third of the way, since they were small.
The travel agent had told him, “Sit at the cafe next to ‘Post 9’ on Ipanema Beach and wonderful things will happen”. So, he booked the flight, grabbed a cab from his hotel, and was now sitting here. And nothing was happening.
The time-and-temperature boards alternated between “13:50” (the time in 24-hour time) and “38” (the temperature, in Celsius), both of which reminded him of how far away from home he was. However, he didn’t mind so much, since he was looking out on an unending sea of the brown, tall, skinny bodies of local Brazillians. Well, although he admired the guys for having a body far better than his geekiness would allow, he was more appreciative of the female form of the ladies.
And he finally understood what a “brazillian cut” bikini bottom really meant, and was happy.