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Last Copa night, the whole lane echoed with vuvuzelas like our fisherfolk horns, and Papa strung blue-and-white paper flags from our sagging roof, each one flapping like a tired seabird. This Wednesday, I shaped a little clay futbol on my wheel, thinking how the grooves from my fingers looked like the streets of Panjim after the win, all messy and joyful. Maybe next market, it will find a home.
#world-cup