In Rio de Janeiro during the rainy season, the air is filled with a damp musty smell and the salty sea water. Ze Carlos huddled in the corner of the tin house, listening to the patter of raindrops on the roof, while his fingers repeatedly traced arcs on the dusty floor. He held a "football" made of old cloth strips and plastic ropes in his arms. It was a treasure he had saved for three months and got from the scrapyard owner in exchange for scraps. Although the outer cloth strips were frayed, revealing the yellowed plastic inside, in Ze's eyes, it was more precious than any diamond.
