“Yeah. Of course.” “Adios, amiga.” “Adios, Ryan.”
And then he was gone and Joanna was smiling at her, saying nothing.
There was something teacherly and comforting about Joanna. She imagined that this version of herself liked Joanna.
But then she remembered she was supposed to do a podcast on behalf of a band where she didn’t know the names of fifty per cent of its members.
Or the title of their last album. Or any of their albums.
The coach pulled up at a grand-looking hotel outside of town. Fancy cars with darkened windows.
Palm trees wrapped in fairy lights. Architecture from another planet.
“A former palace,” Joanna told her. “Designed by a top Brazilian architect. I forget his name.”
She looked it up. “Oscar Niemeyer,” she said after a moment.
“Modernist. But this is meant to be more opulent than his usual stuff. Best hotel in Brazil...”
And then Nora saw a small crowd of people holding out their phones with outstretched arms, as if beggars with bowls, filming her arrival.
You can have everything and feel nothing. @NoraLabyrinth, 74.8K Retweets, 485.3K Likes
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