Three quarters of the way? Guess so, more or less. What’s that guy doing? (Street-cleaner) Crouched, what is it? dog too; O, he’s gesturing, points. (I pass alongside). Disgusting piece of raw meat. Rotting putrid pink dirt-ridden flesh. Not even the dog. . . he’s interested though; ears, eyes, face; but wary. (Hands get closer, about to pick it up; excitedly enticing the dog, encourages it to come). He won’t. Not touch it really; no; got to see. (Alongside the dog now, still not moving; looking back, I see he picks it up and throws it, wipes his fingers on his overalls). He did it, he really picked it up; Nossa senhora, can’t believe it. I can’t (I turn and continue).