Padaria Estrela opened at six in the morning. The smell of bread arrived first, before the sun.

Every Saturday at seven, there were four coffees on the counter. Not three. Not five. Four.

Marcos made the bread. Tânia worked the register. Ivan worked the counter. Nelson made the coffee and knew the name of every customer.

And every Saturday, for six years, each one put five reais next to the coffees.

Twenty reais. One lottery ticket. The same six numbers.

They never won. It was not important. The game was not about winning.

It was about this: four coffees, twenty reais, and the same old words.

"Same numbers, same friends."

Six years. Every Saturday. Rain or sun.

Remember that.