Montemor, Portugal, May 1, 1994.
Rineke Dijkstra
Lucio was trying to figure a position,
sitting on a cold metal chair in a concrete square,
not to seem clumsy or odd or how he really felt,
for no reason really. Just because.
He beamed when saw his brother around the corner,
Lucio’s childish dimples sinking in his cheeks.
He waved his hand calling for affection.
Jorge nodded as walked towards.
Raised an eyebrow to the surroundings.
Where the fuck were them.
Jorge was late,
stuffed in a dark grey bright suit a size smaller than his.
Threw his car key that glided over the table only stopped its way down the ground by Lucio’s hands awkwardly gathered up there.
Traffic was bad, the city, the entire country.
Lucio nods at his brother.
Of course, it was. Bunch of losers. Shitty town. Nowhere to park.
Jorge would throw an inquisitorial gaze onto his brother appearance.
Lucio would catch the disapproval blink. The light sigh. His turning faces.
Jorge leaves his marron briefcase on the ground. Raises a hand. He is not going to wait all day for a drink, is he?
And then, what was that stupid idea Lucio laid?
Oh yes, taking dad with him. No way. That was not going to happen. Jorge was going to provide. He was the one taking care. As usual. As always.
Jorge grabbed a leaflet out of his briefcase.
Turned to a double page. Panoramic French garden view in your face.
An old couple sitting on a stone bench in the middle of it.
A frozen sunny day that did not announce an end.
Fancy, isn’t it? raising his eyebrows in a golden smile.
Yeah, looks nice, it is all Lucio finds to say.
Thirty hundreds, man, thirty hundreds.
No shit.