How to Wrestle a Bull, Part 1

Forcados in action

In April, 2011, I attended my first "bloodless" bullfight in Stevinson, CA. I blogged about it here. The bullfight was part of the research for my second Grand Starr novel, Death of a Matador. It was about this time I conceived of another novel with the forcado group as main characters. I'm now in the process of writing that novel, working title The Young Bull Wrestlers.

I'm only about 8,000 words in and have begun writing a scene where the team is practicing at the main character's house in Hilmar, CA. This scene, and a similar scene in Death of a Matador, was inspired by an actual (man I hate that word) experience I had. A patient of mine was well known in the Portuguese (Azorean) community in the Hilmar-Stevinson area and arranged for me to have "back stage" access to the Amadores de Merced team of forcados, or bull wrestlers. I didn't know I'd have this kind of access and so wasn't prepared. I probably could have made more of it than I did.

As I've blogged before, it's important to me that my books be as "real" as possible, meaning I don't want to give a reader an opportunity to say "No way that could happen!" (Canals excepted; it's a horror/sci-fi novel). With this in mind, I've done some research on the basic technique or approach used by a team of forcados.

What Forcados Do

Forcados are called on to wrestle a bull into submission after it's been run around the arena for 15-20 minutes by a matador either on foot or on a horse, so the bull has been worn out to a degree. (Mind you, it still has plenty of energy and fury to run one of its horn through your gut!) At the two bullfights I attended, the horse and foot matadors did not whip up much excitement from the crowd, despite their great skill and artistry. People were talking and eating, trying to stay warm, texting or talking on a cell phone, drinking and laughing with friends, etc. My feeling is they've been to so many bullfights that the novelty is long gone.

But when the horns blow and the chosen eight leap over the wall and strut into the arena, the crowd comes alive. Cell phones drop into laps, children crowd the front of the stands to get a better view, and people quit yapping. (I never saw anyone set a beer down, though.)

The forcado's goal is to wrestle the bull into submission on the first try. From what I've gathered this means their front guy needs to have stayed on the bull's head until the bull has been subdued. If they fail they keep trying until they get it right. It took one team three tries to wrestle the last bull of the evening at one of my two bullfights. (The biggest and meanest bulls are, generally, saved for last.)

Positions

Eight members are chosen to fight each bull. (Some teams have over 20 members.) They are assigned specific positions that have specific tasks. They are as follows:

Position #1: Cara or Caras - "Faces the bull"

This is the guy that leads the team into the arena. His is the position of greatest risk and skill. His one goal is to jump on top of the bull's head, preferably between the horns, wrap his arms around the bull's neck, and hang on until the bull has been subdued.

When you watch my YouTube video I've linked to, you'll notice that #1 is backpedaling when the bull hits him. Obviously, this takes some of the oomph! out of bull's charge.

You should also notice that the #1 position requires some style and grace. He must show the bull that he's not afraid of it by his posturing and verbal taunting (which you can't hear on the video). He doesn't just run into the arena and start yelling at the bull.

#1 is aided by junior matadors who stand outside the wall and distract the bull with their brightly colored capas, or capes. The distraction allows #1 to get closer to the bull. Why? So the bull doesn't hit #1 after charging halfway across the arena. The closer #1 is to the bull, the less inertia the bull will have gained when they collide.

Observe the guy in the #1 position in the following three photos:

#1 is out there in front, by himself.

He jumps on the bull's head. #2 is right behind him.

He is hanging on for dear life.

The last picture is a good segue into...

Position #2: Contra Caras - "First helper"

#2's main job is to see that #1 stays on the bull's head. If #1 is slipping off the front of the head, #2 tries to push him back up. If #1 is about to go over the bull's head onto his back, #2 tries to pull him forward. His roll is one of timing: he's got to get to #1 while the bull's head is down.

This #2 has moved to the opposite side of the bull.

You'll see in this picture that #2 moved to the side of the bull and has grabbed the bull around the neck. His #1 is securely on the top and front of the bull's head. This position can be dangerous because he doesn't get to backpedal like #1 does.

Numbers 3, 4, and 5 have entered the frame. 2 and 3 are there to...

We'll pick this up in my next post.

1st Review for DEATH OF A MATADOR: 5 Stars

I received my first review on Amazon.com for my latest novel DEATH OF A MATADOR. I'll save you the time of clicking on over to Amazon and publish the review here:

Powers delivers a page-turning police procedural with Death of a Matador, the latest thriller featuring Detective Grant Starr. The action takes place in--until now--a peaceful little dusty town in Central California. From the first page, the story plunges into the fascinating culture of the local Portuguese community, back-stabbing small-town politics, and the inner workings of a police department dealing with crimes related to current hotbutton issues: animal rights activism and the emerging corporate farming of medicinal marijuana.

Powers is a natural storyteller and the dialogue is especially entertaining. You feel like you're riding along with the detectives and officers listening in on their good-natured ribbing, privy to personal and confidential conversations as they unriddle a sudden spate of murders and scramble to protect witnesses. The banter is rich with cultural lingo, convincing police jargon, and spot-on buddy-cop wit.

I also enjoyed the vicarious excitement of wheeling Detective Starr's 1970 Ferrari along a California highway at 120 mph with gorgeous Detective Amber Whitehall riding shotgun! :-)

While the motivations of the corrupt mayor are fully explained, I'd like more insight into the mind of the matador killer. It's understandable that most people like animals, and most people fear going to prison, but I feel that this villain puts himself in extreme peril as an animal-rights activist and as a criminal avoiding capture. I'd like a little more explanation into what makes him tick, what drives him to activism and allows him to be capable of such cold-blooded actions.

Also, I'd like to see Grant Starr put in a bit more personal danger. Sure, he gets shot at, and others rely on him to save their necks, but I'd like to see him sweat-it-out a bit more, to see him in more up-close and personal all-out, whup-ass conflict with the bad guys.

All in all, this story kept me flipping the pages with fully-formed characters, tight action and suspense, very little fluff, and a surprisingly exotic setting via the Portuguese community and their traditions. If you're in the mood for a riveting detective thriller, I recommend it!

I'd love to get more reviews and would be willing to gift a copy of the book to anyone interested in reading and reviewing it. Honest reviews, of course.

Tweak to Death of a Matador Print Cover

I wrote in yesterday's post that the color of the printed cover from CreateSpace was off, darker, than how it appeared on my screen. I tweaked it and resubmitted the cover file along with an updated interior file yesterday.

Here's the tweaked cover:

1. I shrunk the white shadow sitting behind "DEATH". I thought the first version looked cheap.
2. The novel is now a "Grant Starr Novel", not a "Grant Starr Thriller". I changed this because John Sandford's novels say this and I figure I can't do any better than to copy a perennial NY Times Bestseller.
3. I lightened the sand in the background photo about 10%. The print version was far too dark.
4. The text on the spine was perfectly centered but too short. I increased the text height, hopefully without messing up the perfect centering. There are a lot of independent book sellers in Utah and I hope to market my books directly to them. Which is why I also left the suggested retail price of $18.99 off the back cover. They can set their own retail price.
5. I moved my picture higher. I realize I need to take a new picture, one more "authorly", meaning stodgy. The back of Sandford's book jackets are a full-length shot of him, but I'm not quite ready for that. I considered moving the picture to the inside of the back page where I would add an author bio, but didn't.

When I created the PDF file for CreateSpace in Publisher 2010, I did so using the "Commercial Printing" setting, which produces the highest quality PDF. Publisher warned me against doing this because the image has a transparent piece, the grey box behind the book blurb on the back cover. It also warned against leaving the file in RGB format. 

Although CreateSpace says to submit files in RGB format, as well as CMYK, I caved and let Publisher change my file to CMYK. Big mistake as it also changed the transparent box to solid. meaning you could no longer see the sand behind the text. Apparently you can't have transparencies in CMYK format. It took me 20 minutes to fix this.

The above image was saved in Publisher 2010 using the 150 dpi setting. The web setting of 96 dpi produces an image with jagged edges, which is unacceptable. 

WIP Sample: My favorite mayor, again

I'm editing the final chapter of the novel I'm working on, the second Grant Starr thriller. I've stated several times in posts that my favorite character is Mayor Mateus Dutra, "Manny".

Grant thinks Manny is dirty, which he is, and suspects he killed a female member of the city council he'd once had an affair with, for reasons unknown. Probably having something to do with the pot deal Manny is trying to push through the city council. Grant collected some of Manny's DNA and his fingerprints the night before, from some bar glasses, and is waiting for the lab to process the evidence. He's sure Manny's DNA will match skin found under the victim's fingernails.

Manny's in a pinch. He doesn't know he's being investigated for murder, he just thinks Grant's on him about taking a bribe, which he hasn't yet done. He's got $300,000 coming Wednesday night, from the pot company, for his part in getting the city council to sign on. But the cops have been all over him... All he's gotta do is make it to Wednesday.

The final chapter takes place on a Monday. Manny has negotiated a little advance on his bribe, which he expects to collect at the bullfight that night. But then Grant is in his face again...

Grant pulled his truck into a parking slot in front of Dutra Insurance Services and shut off the motor. They could see the mayor through the floor-to-ceiling window, and the mayor made a face at them, and said something to his secretary. She glanced out the window at the detectives piling out of the truck, grabbed her purse and exited the front door, holding it open for the detectives.

"What can I do for the cops today?" Mayor Dutra said, trying on his mayor face.

They had decided, in the truck on the way, they wouldn't divulge they were investigating him for the murder of Marina Terra.

Grant said, "I'm glad you didn't leave town, Mayor."

"I ain't got a reason to leave town, and I gotta be at the bullfight tonight anyway. I told you everyone calls me Manny."

"I don't care what everyone calls you, I'm calling you Mayor Dutra."

This brought a glare from the mayor, which he quickly tried to turn into a smile. He and Grant stared at each other until Bensen said, "What time you closing the office today?"

"Why do you wanna know? I don't gotta tell the cops when I'm closin' up."

"In case we need to talk to you again."

The mayor turned his head to face Bensen and said, "Maybe three, maybe four."

"You goin' home after that?" Bensen said.

"I told you I gotta go to the bullfight tonight. I gotta march in the openin' ceremonies."

Grant shifted gears. "Have you spoken to anyone from Allied Valley Growers today?"

The mayor turned back to Grant, his face a dark red. "You know how you kiss a Portagee's ass? The same way you kiss that bitches ass" -- he pointed at Amber -- "you kiss it, but you don't gotta give it no tongue."

Grant popped out of his chair, reached a long arm across the desk and grabbed the mayor's collar and yanked it, lowered his face to the mayor's and said, "You motherfucker..." He made a fist with his free hand and cocked his arm.

Caught off guard, the mayor fell forward onto the desk, grunting and cursing in Portuguese. Bensen and Amber jumped up and grabbed Grant's cocked arm, and Bensen said, "Whoa there Ali. Let's cool this down a tad."

Grant shouted into Dutra's face: "I'm gonna kick your ass, you hear me!"

The mayor, struggling to regain his balance, said, "I'm gonna sue your ass! I told you I ain't gonna talk to you no more without my attorney and now I'm gonna sue your ass!"

Grant shoved Dutra back into his chair, which did not hold his weight and tumbled backward, spilling him onto the floor. Grant shook off Bensen and Amber and pushed his way to Dutra, kicked him in the ribs and bent down and growled, "You pissed off the wrong cop, and you know what? Before this day is done it'll be my pleasure to lock your fat ass up. If I don't kill you first."

Dutra flailed his arms, trying to right himself, looking like a turtle caught on his back, and he shouted, "I'll have your badge and everything you got! I'm gonna--"

"Stuff it," Grant said. "It'll be your word against three cops, and everyone in town knows you're a crook."

"He took a swing at you," Bensen said. "We can haul him in for assaulting a police officer." He moved to stand on the other side of Dutra.

"You fuckers!" Dutra yelled. But he quit thrashing.

"We should haul your ass in," Grant said, "make a spectacle of it. But I'm gonna wait until we got enough on you so they never let you out."

Dutra stared up into Grant's face and said, "You wouldn't be so tough without that badge and gun."

Grant pulled his shield and gun out and set them on Dutra's desk. "You wanna try right now fat man?"

Their eyes remained locked for ten seconds, then Dutra said, "Get outta my office."

Grant said, "We'll be seeing you soon," picked up his things and the detectives filed out of the mayor's office.

Sweating and shaking with fury, Manny rolled out of his chair and used the desk to pull himself up. The blue Ford was backing away from his office, but he could see the tall cop looking back at him. He gave the cop the bird, and the cop made a gun with his index finger and thumb and fired it at Manny.

"Goddamn you!" Manny yelled.

He lurched to the water cooler, drank three cups and doused his face. He knew a guy who could get him a gun on short notice. In fact, he knew a couple of guys. He didn't think the cops had anything on him, he hadn't taken any money yet, but if they did, he'd take that cop down with him. He'd shoot him if the face if it was the last thing he'd do.

 The section still needs a little polishing, but I like it.

Sample Wednesday: A Hungover Mayor

This is a sample from the novel I'm currently working on, the second Grant Starr thriller. It is yet untitled.

Mayor Dutra, "Manny," one of the bad guys in the book, has become one of my favorite characters. He drinks too much and is crude and crooked: delicious qualifications for a fictional small-town mayor.

I was going to provide a little info to set up the scene, but thought better of it. You should be able to figure out what's going on from the text. The first draft will be done this month and I hope to have it published by June. Enjoy!

(But keep in mind this is in rough draft form and may have the heck edited out of it in rewrites.)

   Manny had trouble getting out of bed Thursday morning; he'd gone drinking again after the council meeting, and he'd tied one on good. He crawled into the shower and let the hot water beat some life into him, then stumbled into the kitchen to get the coffee going.

   When hot coffee began gurgling out of the machine, he switched a mug for the pot and held it there until it was half full, stuck the pot back on the plate and put an ice cube in the mug, pushed the cube around with a spoon and the phone rang.

   He groaned and got the handset off the counter, punched the button and croaked into the mouthpiece, "Yeah?"

   "Mayor Dutra?"

   Manny frowned. "Yeah, who's this?" The accent was familiar, but his alcohol-hammered brain couldn't produce a name or a face.

   "This is Lorne Eames, from Valley Unified Growers. How are you today?"

Eames ... He connected the name with the accent, but the name of the company didn't click. "I had better mornings."

   "I hope that doesn't mean the meeting went poorly last night."

   Ah, that Eames: the pot guy. Manny felt his spirits pick up, and felt as if a little more blood had found its way into his brain. "The council meetin' went just like I said it would."

   "Hmm ... Does that mean it looks good for the vote next week?"

   "I got three votes lined up." Manny took a hit of the coffee. "That's all I need, three."

   "Right, you said all you needed was a simple majority. What are the odds someone might change their mind by next Wednesday?"

   Manny pictured the faces of the three yes votes he had in his pocket; two had been blackmailed, so he was sure of them. Marina had said yes, as he'd thought she would, but because he had nothing on her, he couldn't be absolutely sure of her loyalty. He told Eames: "Zero. You don't got a problem with the money, do you?"

"No, Laken has the funds lined up so we'll have the cash next week."

   "I want it Wednesday night, after the council meetin'. I want it right after the vote."

   "Will the documents be signed at the meeting? We'll need our guarantees before we can release the funds."

Damn. Manny had forgotten about the papers. The papers would require the city attorney, Leonard Caldas, to be involved, and attorneys were never in a hurry to get anything done because they got paid by the hour. He wondered if he could talk to Leonard today, get him primed for next week.

   "Mayor?"

   "I forgot about the damn attorney. I'm gonna take the papers over there today and get him to put a rush on it."

   "We'll be there next Wednesday, Laken and I, with the cash. If you can get the papers signed that night, it's all yours. We're eager to get started."

   "I'll let you know," Manny said, then hung up.

   He had drained his mug and so refilled it, this time adding milk to cool the coffee. At the table, he started thinking about how he could get the attorney Leonard Caldas to do something in a week that he usually took two months to do.

Using Alternating Points of View in Fiction

They pulled up in front of Mayor Dutra's insurance office, killed the engine and walked to the front door. Grant could see the man inside at his desk, watching them through the glass door.

They entered and the mayor said, "How you guys doin'? You here about Marina?"

"Sure are," McKay said. "You heard about her murder, Mayor?"

"Everyone calls me Manny."

"Okay Manny. I guess you heard about the murder."

Manny shrugged. "Stevinson ain't a big town. Real tragic, losing a good council member like that." Then he quickly added, "And she was a good person. Why don't you guys take a seat. You need some water or something? I got instant coffee somewhere." He looked around the office, as if looking for the coffee.

"No thanks," McKay said as he and Grant sat. "How well did you know Ms. Terra?"

"Who?"

"Marina Terra, the woman who was murdered last night."

"Ah shit. I been calling her Marina for so many years, I forget her last name."


Manny offered them a toothy smile, stalling while he tried to recall if he'd told anyone about his and Marina's affair. He didn't have any close friends, so who would he have told? Had he bragged about it to someone? He might have, he never had much to brag about when it came to sex, but couldn't recall for sure if he had.

He stood. "I'm gonna get a cuppa water. You guys sure you don't want something?"

"Since you're having some, I'll take some water," the taller detective said, the one whose eyes bugged him.

Manny plodded to the back of the little office and stepped behind the partitions to get the water. He drained a cup, then another, trying to remember if he'd told anyone. He didn't think so, but thought it best to not bring up the affair. That way if she hadn't told anyone it'd be like it had never happened.

He wadded his cup up and dropped it in the wastebasket, filled a cup for the cop and returned to his desk.


Grant took the water and said, "Thanks," and took note of the mayor's appearance: he didn't look so good, like he'd had a rough night. Like he'd been up all night drinking cheap liquor. And there was something else that bugged Grant, something he couldn't put his finger on.

He decided to bring it up. "Did we come at a bad time Manny? You look a little... Ragged."

Manny averted his eyes and said, "I had better days. This thing with Marina got me shook up a little. Stevinson ain't used to people gettin' murdered." He tugged at his collar with a fat finger; Grant noticed his hand was shaking.

And then realized what about the mayor's appearance bothered him: he was wearing a necktie, and it was strangling him.
"So," McKay said, "you've known her for a while..."

"Yeah. We got elected the same year so we've worked together on the council for a couple'a years. She had a stubborn streak, Marina did, but in the end she usually came around."

"Argumentative, huh? She have any run-ins with other council members?"

"Sure. Like I said, she could be stubborn."


Sorry he'd said anything negative about Marina, Manny felt sweat trickle down his forehead. He gave them another smile and said, "But what Portagee ain't?"

"Anything specific come to mind?" the tall cop said.

Manny shook his head. "Nothin' important. Hell, Stevinson council don't ever discuss anything important 'cause there ain't any money to do anything." He forced a chuckle, unconsciously pulled at his collar again then quickly dropped his hand back to his lap. He was beginning to think the tie was cutting off the oxygen to his brain.

McKay said, "The council ever have heated arguments that could lead to ill feelings?"

Manny shrugged. "Naw. We hash things out, vote, then go home. If there's any bitching, the next day everyone goes to work and forgets about it." He shrugged again, which this time had the effect of tightening his tie, which made him tug at his collar again.

The cops paused for a few uncomfortable moments, seemed to stare at him, which made more sweat run down his face, then the shorter one said, "Do you know if she was seeing anyone?"

"Marina? Hell, I don't know. We weren't close or anything and I never heard no one talk about her seeing anyone."

The tall cop said, "Did you know she was married once?"

Manny had to think again. He knew Marina had been married, she'd told him once before sex, but if he told the cops wouldn't they wonder how he knew? It was kind of personal. He decided to give them a weasel answer: "I don't think so, but maybe. With her working for the church, she wouldn't exactly want anyone to know. Catholics ain't too hot about divorce."

"When was the last time you saw her?" the tall one said.

"At the council meetin' Wednesday night."

The shorter one jumped in, "You haven't seen or talked to her since Wednesday night?"

It felt like they were tag-teaming him, and it was pissing him off. "That's what I said, ain't it?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake; the cops' eyes drilled holes through his head.

The shorter one said, "You were seen talking to her yesterday, at the church."

"Right. I forgot about that." He offered the smile again. "I stopped by for a few minutes to chat with her about the meetin' the night before."

"Oh?" the tall one said. "Unfinished business?"

It was then that Manny realized the cops would find out about the pot deal when they talked to the other council members, which they would eventually do because Marina was on the council. They might already know but were playing dumb to see if he would lie about it. He felt things spiraling out of control.

This is a scene from the first, and rough, draft of the novel I'm working on, the second Grant Starr thriller. I have no working title, sadly. I'm not worried, though. I didn't think of The Mighty T until several months after the book was done. One of my sons called my original title "dumb," so, wisely, I changed it. The text will certainly change in edits, hopefully for the better.

The scene is an example of alternating points of view in fiction. Used sparingly, it can add dynamic variety for the reader who may grow tired of straight narrative and dialog. Used too frequently, it would likely lead to confusion: who's saying and thinking what?

If you use this technique, be careful to keep track of whose point of view you're writing in. When writing in Manny's point of view, I refer to Detectives Starr and McKay by a rough description: the tall one and the shorter one. Hopefully the reader will remember that Grant Starr is six-six. They may not; I'll have to keep that in mind in edits.

(As a side note, because I'm using Scrivener, I went to the scene I copied from for this post and made a note to make sure the reader remembers Grant is six-six. When writing in Word, I'd have had to write that in my draft notebook and hope that I'd see it when editing.)

When writing in the detective's point of view, I called the mayor Manny because he asked them to.

Try it sometime in your writing. I think you'll like it and it will expand your skill set.

O Touro! Portuguese “Bloodless” Bullfight

This past Monday I attended a Portuguese “bloodless” bullfight with two of my sons, in tiny Stevinson, California, a dairy town twenty-five miles south of where I live. My next Grant Starr novel will open with one of these bullfights, so naturally I wanted to see one. It was one of the most exciting events I’ve ever attended.

Tradition bullfights, where the bull is stabbed or killed, have been outlawed in the United States for many years. “Bloodless” bullfights are legal in several states, including California. Here, they are legal only when part of a religious event. Good thing for us the Portuguese Catholic community has religious events from April to October; there are twenty-to-thirty bullfights every year. I’ve lived in the San Joaquin Valley since 1963 yet never knew of these bullfights.

Instead of being stabbed in the back, as happens in Spain and Mexico, the bulls have a Velcro pad that performers attach short and long flags to. You can see them in the pictures above and below this text. The only blood I saw came from the busted lip of a forcado. More on forcados in a minute.

In the event I attended, the cavaleiros, horse-mounted bullfighters, placed three short banderillas, the flags, on each bull while riding their first horse. They changed horses and placed three longer banderillas, then left the arena. There were no matadors, bullfighters on foot, at this event.

When the cavaleiros were finished, the trumpets blared and the forcados leapt over the wall and entered the arena. Our hostess’s daughter, who is Portuguese-American, says she attends twenty bullfights a year. She, like everyone in the stands under fifty, chatted with friends or played on her cell phone during most of the bullfight. But when the forcados took center stage; everyone paid attention. Forcados are badass bull wrestlers.

This is what they look like:

A forcado taunting a bull.

They are all crazy, but the one in the picture, with the elf hat, is by far the craziest. Eight forcados enter the arena to wrestle the bull into submission. They form a line, with the elf-hat-wearer in front. Elf Hat approaches the bull alone, as depicted in the photo. He calls out “Touro! Touro!”, “bull” in Portuguese. Well, bah! Instead of my blathering, watch this short video I made with my iPhone. It’s best viewed in full-screen mode.

Is he crazy or what? Elf Hat was the guy with the busted lip. He’s lucky that’s all that got busted. The forcado hoisted over the wall was shaken but OK. Here’s another video where the bull kicks some ass:

That group’s bad luck to have drawn the meanest bull in the show. It took them three attempts to subdue it.

The Amadores De Merced, Merced Amateurs, the youngest group of forcados in the state, with one member a mere fourteen years old, showed us how it’s done:

After being subdued by the forcados, the bull follows a group of cows out of the arena:

Animal fans are wondering what happens to the bull after the bullfight. It either goes out to pasture, as a stud, or it goes to the slaughterhouse, where all cattle end up. These bulls are bred to fight in bullfights and they get only one appearance. Bulls are smart. If they were to come back a second time they’d know not to go for the muleta, or cape: they’d go for the matador. And they wouldn’t chase the horses because they’d know they couldn’t catch them. That would be a boring show.

There’s more, but I’ve used up my time. I think there’s another post or two here. Or three. The experience has made me rethink my work-in-progress.

*Photographer Mike Wooldridge generously allowed me to use his wonderful photos. I found them here. Take a look at his photostream please; you’ll see everything I saw Monday night. (Except I didn’t see a matador.) 

*Apologies to the Portuguese language, which I don’t speak. I’ve probably mixed Spanish with Portuguese.

*On a personal note, my oldest son speaks Portuguese and had a ball chatting with his neighbors. Because he doesn’t look Portuguese and speaks the language funny, everyone wanted to know if he was Brazilian. The other son only came because he’d pulled the front bumper off his truck backing out of his parking stall and couldn’t work that evening. He didn’t regret it; we had a blast.