From the atlantic forest, the sounds only penetrate the night, ricoching from mountains between towers, suspended and still in the air. Beneath the darkness, a Pão de Açúcar, that even the endless sky spreading from the rooftops to the invisible sea can not subtract from memories.

Brightening lights of flats, colors of the buildings, the strip of the favela nearby climbs in between the towers, away from the city. A seam of patchwork for the cariocas; a rest before the next firework.

The cars traffic, broken by ambulance sirens, covers the intimacy of the inside houses. An army of doormen snoozes and snores, that no one dare to listen to.

Rio is here breathing, waiting for the next morning to find it awake.