The neon sign of the roadside bar flickered, casting a bruised purple light over the empty bottles on the table. Outside, the Sertão heat had finally broken, replaced by a sudden, violent downpour.
Jorge’s voice soared, echoing the ache in his chest, while Tierry’s rhythm kept him grounded in the bitter reality of the barstool. Every beat felt like a heartbeat he didn't want to have. 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...” The neon sign of the roadside bar flickered,
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." Every beat felt like a heartbeat he didn't want to have
He signaled the waiter for another round. As the cold liquid hit the glass, a familiar melody drifted from the jukebox in the corner—that unmistakable swing of Tierry mixed with the soulful, gravelly depth of Jorge. It was "Chovendo na Minha Bochecha."