From the window of a somewhat empty bus, on a Friday afternoon, on a highly paved avenue in São Paulo, Brazil: I see two little girls in a rush, running in between the cars stuck in traffic. They are placing small plastic bags onto the side mirrors of cars, a common measure for street vendors in my city. Inside those plastic bags, I see pink and red drops, and, on the outside, a note to the potential buyer stuck to the package, probably telling the vendor's story and asking for money. Although there is no adult accompanying the kids, a grown-up wrote those notes and will be sure to collect the money the sweet kids make for themselves.
The people inside the cars soon identify the content of the bags as those little sweet portions of flavor that, after all, are bad for one's health and leave the plastic bags untouched outside their cars. The little girls rush to put the largest number of bags they can onto the mirrors and dash to take them out of there before the light turns green and the cars speed up and leave.
They are barefoot. The asphalt probably does not burn their feet, as it is a cloudy Friday. But asphalt is rough, dirty, and causes blisters. I see them taking off the plastic bags from the first three cars in line, but after that, my eyesight doesn't reach them anymore.
On the sidewalk, there's a little boy sitting on the floor, preparing more bags to sell. He talks to himself, gesturing with his hands. He does not seem to care about the lots of trash that surround him on the street.
I open the window next to my seat and call one of the girls, asking for a bag. She rushes to the bus and gives it to me while I give her some money. She grabs it and runs again.
The light turns green, and the bus speeds up. I don't know if she was able to collect all the bags.
I start opening my bag, really excited, to find out that it contains no candy: instead, there are little pink and red paper hearts. And there, where the note asking for help is supposed to be, I find this message: "Here we sell small portions of love. Give to those who need it, or to nourish oneself. Cost: $0.00".
Parabéns e obrigada!