Jorge nodded sadly. He stood up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills—his earnings from the day. He pressed them into her hand.
"I am afraid for you ," he replied. "The world is a mill, Alice. O mundo é um moinho. It doesn't care if you are beautiful or if your heart is pure. It just turns. It grinds your dreams into dust before you even realize you’ve been used." O Mundo Г‰ Um Moinho
"Go then," he said. "But pay attention to your path. Because when the mill starts turning, it doesn't stop for anyone. I just hope that when you finally see the world for what it is, you still have enough of yourself left to come home." Jorge nodded sadly
The mirror in the cramped dressing room was cracked, but it still reflected Alice’s excitement. She was eighteen, wearing a dress the color of a bruised plum, and applying a lipstick that was much too loud for her face. "I am afraid for you ," he replied