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  • Friday I've started working again. I'll be twice per week in an antique jewelry shop.
    "When I had six years old, I eat chitcken one per week and I had only one dress and one pair of shoes: for sundays. My father was working here and the father of my father too."
    She is 75, has long eyelashes and Frida Kahlo's eyebrows.
    She is the captain of the "boat". The place, in fact, is six meters long and two wide and the door of the shop is the same used by the people living here in the building. When they come in for going home, the walk up through the stairs: the roof of the "boat".
    If she's looking to the street, through the little shop window, the only place where I can stand is behind her.

    I smile.

    "When a woman look here, to the jewels, her eyes light up. I love this light in their eyes, more than these pieces of stone."
    She takes a gold ring.
    It is beautiful, maybe. Has the shape of a lady. Her naked body bends on the finger. She takes a piece of cloth and starts passing it through the gold hair of the lady, through her nouse and eyes.
    "My father always said that things that can get wet or burned do not have any values."
    She goes down to the belly and up again, near the breast of the gold lady.
    "If you have one of these and you're in the need of money, you go to a shop, sell it and buy something to eat. Money in the banks accounts? They can get wet or burned."

    She puts down the lady ring near the other gold pieces. She turns, looks at me and smiles. Gently.
    "You understand?"

    I take out my hand from the pockets.
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