He wiped his face with the back of his hand, a sad smile touching his lips as the chorus peaked. "Yeah," he whispered, "but the worst of it is only falling on my cheek."
He sat alone, staring at his phone. The screen was dark, but he could still see the ghost of the last message he’d sent: “Are you really not coming?” No reply. Tierry - Chovendo na Minha Bochecha part. Jorge...
The lyrics started to weave through the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof. “Não é chuva que tá caindo do céu...” He wiped his face with the back of