The waterseller sings ‘Agua, cerveza, Coca-Cola’. Heavy bags cut his hands. He thinks ‘How do I get off this beach?’ Thousands on hot Malagueta today, and many sellers.
A boat, suddenly. Five sunburnt men. The waterseller watches as a wave flips them into the surf.
He runs, drags one, another ashore. Soon, others help. The waterseller tears open his bags. Ice spills out. He opens bottles of water.
‘I was you, once,’ says the waterseller, ‘now drink.’
‘We are only five,’ cries a man. ‘Behind us, five million.’
Sirens. Seagulls. There! Another boat! The waterseller opens a beer.