Before us is a long line of tall, empty bottles, rusted around the bottom with the flakes of crushed fruit. The red wine that we all sucked out of them made us warm and chatty before it and Rodrigo Amarante mellowed us out, slumping our shoulders and contentedly swooning. The package of cigarettes kept getting slid across the table, along with the fire. We could remain like this for hours and hours, curving our backs and craning our chins up, letting the white smoke waste away to outer space. We could remain here for hours and hours, to the point where we need to slip into some sleeves as the chill begins to get to us. We could remain here.
Rodrigo Amarante Official Site