Dᴏsᴇ ᴅᴇ Iɴsᴀɴɪᴅᴀᴅᴇ
Ato Um
𝑂 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑜́𝑔𝑖𝑜 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑟 3ℎ33.....
𝑂 𝑎𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑛ℎ𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑠...
𝐴 𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑢..𝑀𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎́ 𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑠...
𝐸𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑖 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑜. 𝑀𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟..𝐸 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑖 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑗𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑎 𝑑𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜...
𝐸 𝑙ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑜...𝑂 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑒 𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑟 𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑎𝑜 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑐𝑒̂𝑠 𝑖𝑟𝑎̃𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑟 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎...
𝑆𝑒𝑗𝑎𝑚 𝑏𝑒𝑚-𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑠(𝑎) 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠!
𝑀𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜..𝐵𝑜𝑚, 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑒𝑚 𝑚𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎...
𝐴𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟...𝐵𝑜𝑚, 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑜́𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒, 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜? 𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑎̃𝑜, 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜 ℎ𝑎́𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑐𝑒̂𝑠.
𝐸𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑖 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑖...𝑁𝑎̃𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑚, 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑐̧𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎. 𝑉𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑖 𝑑𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎, 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑠.
𝐿ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜, 𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎̃𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑚! 𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑟, 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠...𝑃𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑟...𝑂𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑣𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑚 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑖 𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑒𝑚-
𝑁𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑜...𝐼𝑟𝑒𝑖 𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑛𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑒 𝑜 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑢𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜́𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑠. 𝐴𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒-𝑚𝑒, 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑥𝑖̄𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒́ 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑐̧𝑢𝑐𝑎𝑟...
𝑂𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑜 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒! 𝑈𝑚 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑜, 𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑖 𝑒́ 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑟𝑒...
Últimas Fitas
𝐴 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑒́ 𝑢𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒́𝑑𝑖𝑜 𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑜...𝐸 𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑎𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑚 𝑎 𝑔𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑜.
𝐻𝑜𝑗𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑖 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑚𝑢́𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑒𝑚 𝑚𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑐̧𝑎.𝐶𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑎 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎
𝐷𝑟𝑎. 𝐿𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑧𝑖𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑧𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑣𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑜𝑠.𝑀𝑎𝑠 𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑚 𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑖𝑠? 𝐸 𝑠𝑖𝑚, 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜́𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜?
𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑧..𝐸𝑙𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑎 𝑜 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟 𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑎𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑧 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜...𝑈𝑚𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑙ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑜𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑚 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑜. 𝑂𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑗𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟.....𝑂𝑢 𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑠.
𝑆𝑢𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑧 𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑧 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎 𝑣𝑖..
Lívia Alencar . Dra
"Vᴏᴄᴇ̂ ɴᴀ̃ᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪsᴀ ᴍᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀʀ ᴛᴜᴅᴏ."
𝐴𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟...𝑇𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑖𝑥𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑒́𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑠. 𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐞 𝐮𝐦-𝐀
𝐻𝑜𝑗𝑒 𝑎 𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑖 𝑢𝑚 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑗𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑙ℎ𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑖 𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟.𝐿𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑖 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑎...
𝐴̀𝑠 3ℎ33 𝑑𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑑𝑎, 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑖 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝑜 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑙ℎ𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑔𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑡𝑒́ 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑖. 𝐴 𝑓𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑜𝑢, 𝑈𝑚𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑎 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎, 𝑈𝑚 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒 𝑎 𝑉𝑜𝑧 𝐷𝑒𝑙𝑎.
𝑁𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑖𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜, 𝑢𝑚 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑢𝑙ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑎̃𝑜...𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑎̃𝑜, 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑖 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑡𝑎
Gabriel Thorne
"O ciclo..."
𝐸𝑙𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑚 𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑐̧𝑜𝑠...
𝐸𝑥𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑜, 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑎. 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑎 𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛ℎ𝑜𝑠, "Jᴜsᴛɪᴄ̧ᴀ ᴇ́ sɪɴᴏ̂ɴɪɴᴏ ᴅᴇ ᴘᴜɴɪᴄ̧ᴀ̃ᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴀ ᴇʟᴀ ǫᴜᴇ ɴᴀ̃ᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀʀ"
Cidade Dorme
𝑈𝑚𝑎 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑜, 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑢𝑚 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑜 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎 𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒..
𝐻𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑎 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑖, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑜 𝑒 𝐶𝑎̃𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑜 𝑛𝑎𝑑𝑎. 𝐽𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜.
𝐸𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑜, 𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑝𝑎----𝐹𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑔𝑒𝑚 𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑙 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑜 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎.𝑁𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒́𝑚 𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑠.
𝐴𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑒́𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑡𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑟, 𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑒....
𝐴𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎 𝑎𝑝𝑜́𝑠 𝑢𝑚 𝑏𝑜𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑓𝑒́ 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑎, 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑖 𝑛𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑜 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎----𝑁𝑒𝑙𝑎 𝑢𝑚 𝑝𝑜𝑒𝑚𝑎:
Líricos
"-𝓐 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓲𝓻𝓪 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓕𝓸𝓲 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓪,
𝓝𝓪̃𝓸 𝓢𝓪𝓰𝓻𝓪 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓸 𝓐 𝓢𝓮𝓰𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪.
𝓜𝓪𝓼 𝓞 𝓙𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓶, 𝓐𝓱....
𝓞 𝓙𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓶 𝓛𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓻𝓪 𝓓𝓮 𝓣𝓸𝓭𝓪𝓼."
☠︎︎✞︎☏︎
𝐸𝑢 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑚𝑒. 𝑀𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑢𝑚 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑝𝑜 𝑗𝑎́ 𝑡𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑜.
𝐺𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑖 𝑛𝑜 𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑠𝑜, 𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑢𝑚 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎. 𝐴 𝑚𝑢𝑙ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑖𝑥𝑎 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑟 "𝐵𝑜𝑎 𝑇𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒."
Gabriel Thorne
Sim...*Digo com uma voz firme e calma*
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A cidade é calma, vai gostar daqui. Todo mundo gosta. *Diz sorrindo*
Gabriel Thorne
*Retribuo o sorriso saindo com o cigarro que acabei de comprar*
𝐴𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜. 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑖 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑖 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑚. 𝑆𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑜𝑠 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜...
𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎, 𝑛𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑑𝑎 𝑟𝑢𝑎 𝑢𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑎̃𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜.𝑁𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒́𝑚 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒, 𝑎𝑑𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑢𝑥𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑜 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑎𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑢𝑚 𝑖𝑚𝑎̃ 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑎𝑠.
𝐴𝑙𝑔𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑧𝑖𝑎, 𝑗𝑎́ ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠. 𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑜, 𝑎 𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑎 𝑒 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑣𝑎.
𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑢𝑚 𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙, 𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑧 𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑚....𝐷𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒 22ℎ 𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑢𝑚 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒̂𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑧𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎𝑐̧𝑎 𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑖𝑎.
𝐻𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑖 𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑧𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑎---𝑀𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒, 𝑜 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒̂𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑜𝑠.
𝐸 𝑛𝑜 𝑐𝑒́𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎. 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑎𝑠 3ℎ33, 𝑜𝑓𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑓𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜. 𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑒𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑜 𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑚.
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