I really was going to kill him when I grew up—strutting his stuff as the owner of the most beautiful car in the world and in Bangu.
That was when he disappeared for a few days. What a relief! He must have gone out of town or taken a vacation.
Once again I could walk to school with a calm heart, and I was already beginning to doubt whether it was really worth killing him later on.
One thing was for sure: without fail, when I went for a piggyback on a less important car,
I no longer felt the same thrill and my ears would begin to sting terribly.
Life in the street went on as always. Kite season had come and we were always outside.
The blue sky would be dotted with the most beautiful, colourful stars during the day.
As it was the windy time of year I didn’t spend as much time with Pinkie, only going to see him when I was grounded, after a beating.
I never tried to sneak out when I was grounded; being beaten twice in a row hurt a lot.
Instead I would go with King Luís to festoon—I loved that word—my orange tree.
As it happened, Pinkie had grown a lot and soon would be giving me flowers and fruit. Other orange trees took a long time.
But my sweet-orange tree was “precocious”, which is how Uncle Edmundo described me.
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