After three months of dryness and drought, the rain came to fuse the oil residue left by the cars on the asphalt, forming an iridescent film on the street where Gleide took her careful steps to the bus stop. After all the time of dryness and the safe friction of her feet against the ground, she now needed to be cautious to walk in the treacherous humidity of the street, the slippery sidewalk, the strangely generous air that entered softly through her irritated nostrils. Perhaps the excessive caution was also due to the tampon she had hurriedly put in when her period had come as a deluge in the middle of the night. Bending knees to steady her legs, hijacked by the tightness of her pencil skirt, and feet in the high thick heels, she was attentive to the drops shooting down from the trees, to the brown mud concealed by the wet leaves.

She dodged all the puddles, jumped over the raging stream that carried the dry leaves floating into the gutter and arrived at the bus stop in time to catch the bus, which was still empty, so that she could make her way sitting down. Would there be time to check notifications or reply to any messages? She opted to open the chocolate bar for breakfast. She took the package out of her bag, opened it with a noise that caused more wrinkles on the forehead of the woman next to her and took the first bite. Her teeth, unable to contain all the filling, left the caramel bouncing down the cliff formed by the edge of the candy and Gleide’s fingers. Before she could lick it or wipe it off with her hand, a hole shook the bus and all its contents, in inertia, convulsed. With that, the thick drop of caramel fell, staining the bust of the white blouse of her receptionist’s uniform.

As she dragged her butt across the seat to get up and get off to her stop, she remembered to make sure she didn’t leave any red stains. The relief at seeing the seat clean made the blood rush from her head as her feet took care of the descent on the steps. Getting off the bus and lowering her alerts, she held onto the door to ensure her balance, going sideways in a leg gap that the solidity of her skirt allowed. Her finger found the viscous grease that explained the silence of the journey, with no creak of the exhausted doors opening and closing. Fingers wiped black oil over Gleide’s forehead and hair and, without noticing, she allowed herself to be painted in grease, as if she were lubricating her own skin to reduce the friction between herself and the world, to remove the creaks from her body as she traveled down the exhausted street. A few steps to the bass sound of the heels and the automatic doors of the real estate agency moved away from her dirty hands, like oil repelling a drop of water.

Before going to stand by the reception desk, she passed by the bathroom, which in its sequence of sinks, ostentatious in their shine and smell of cleaning products, made anyone doubt that it was a container for the remains of skin, dirt and food from people’s mouths. So she turned on the tap of one of the sinks and carefully dripped a few drops onto the clothes, then onto the skin and hair. She removed the stains she could, turned off the tap and picked up the objects on the counter. Then turned her torso, back to the mirror, and twisted neck to check her ass: nothing was leaking, no blood, everything was fine and once again peace filled her tension.  

A little dizzy with relief, she leaned on the wall. One tile grabbed her hand, refusing to let go: a huge wad of chewed gum left there gripped Gleide’s fingers and took hold of her manicured nails. She felt the still damp gum hug her body and, within that childish image, she imagined it was a monster living in the brickwork who had decided to engage her and kill its loneliness. The thought of herself as a princess in prison. The agitation to get rid of the pink reminded her once again of the red. All the same, the pad kept her in peace, leak-free, safe. She got rid of the gum, let go of the stickiness, and refocused on what seemed to be enough.

With a spray bottle of alcohol and a piece of paper, she cleaned the reception desk for the bright start of the working day at the real estate agency to receive realtors in suits lined with portfolios of those uninhabited apartments, with no footprints or fingerprints, blind to the need for the cleaning areas installed in their own architectures. With an open smile smeared with chocolate, her make-up smeared with grease, her clothes stamped with caramel, her hair stiffened and her sticky fingers typing and clinging to the keyboard, dyeing the letters pink, Gleide welcomed them with euphoric joy throughout the day. Her smile grew bigger than her cheeks, and she revelled in the power, with the utmost sympathy, to authorize or prevent entry to the building. She was relieved that there were no leaks, no dirt on her thighs or ass. What a joy to see the day go by and not get wet with red.