None of the boys from school had dared to, until now.
When I was talking about it with Pinkie, he said, “No one at all, Zezé?” “No one at all. They don’t dare.”
I sensed that Pinkie was laughing, and he could tell what I was thinking.
“But you’re just dying to do it, aren’t you?” “To be honest, I am. I think...” “What do you think?”
Now I was the one laughing. “C’mon, tell me.” “You’re so nosy.”
“You always tell me – you always end up telling me. You can’t help yourself.”
“Hey, Pinkie. I leave home at seven o’clock in the morning, right? When I get to the corner it’s five past seven.”
Then, at ten past seven, the Portuguese stops his car at the corner outside the Misery and Hunger and goes in to buy a packet of cigarettes...
One of these days I’m going to pluck up the courage and wait for him to get back into the car and pow!”
“You don’t dare.” “Don’t I, Pinkie? I’ll show you.”
Now my heart was thumping. The car stopped, the Portuguese got out.
Pinkie’s challenge played on my fear and my courage; I didn’t want to, but pride made me quicken my step.
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