São Paulo is well-known for being the city that never sleeps. With its bustling days and endless nights, the city can convince you that every moment is opportune for something new. The reason is beyond the practical aspect, showing that time is a misconception for those living here.
The social life in the city couldn’t be more distinct, and staying at home is merely a matter of choice. Every week, you can find a new restaurant opening, a theatre play’s premiere, an exhibition of a talented artist, or a festival taking place. And that’s not even considering when everything coincides on a single weekend.
Still catching my breath from this reality, I found a weekend that seemed destined to be quiet. Some of my friends were travelling, while the others were engaged in plans I could easily avoid. Yet, I didn’t know that the unexpected would beat my expectations.
Jacque, a longstanding French friend I met in London, was in São Paulo. Upon discovering my return, he wasted no time in contacting me. With my phone in hand, I gazed at the soft bed with my new book beside the pillow while realising that my plan of indulging in a skincare routine, watching a good film, and delving into Milan Kundera’s novel was about to be intercepted.
Eliminating all chances of inventing an excuse to avoid our meeting, Jacques stated that it had been many years since we last saw each other and, before hanging up, exclaimed, ‘No one sleeps in São Paulo’.
After a (near) threat, I had little room for choice. I messaged Vic, inquiring if she could put my name on the list, knowing she always has the right contacts for complex moments. She promptly sent me the confirmation without asking what the occasion was, emphasising that I had to arrive before 1 a.m.
Noticing the clock read 11:48 p.m., I hurried to get ready to reach the venue before the list closed. Much had changed in São Paulo’s nightlife. The rules were no longer the same, and since promoters had become the owner’s sugar babies, parties had become more generic, losing the authenticity of emblematic themes.
In Uber, Laura sent me two voice messages while I was chatty with the enigmatic driver and pondering the ethics of engaging in flirtations during his work hours. Coming from her, that was highly unusual, so I excused my crush to immediately listen to the audio. Once I recognised the male voice coming from the audio, I gagged and so lost my chance with the boy driving.
Bernardo, a designer who had studied with Laura at Belas Artes, had met her that night and was keen to reunite with me. Instantly, I shared the location of the club I was at, and they immediately confirmed they would meet me later.
While exiting the car, I spotted Jacque in the smoking area. Disobeying all rules and signs of the space, he strode over to me with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. His accent, which combined Brazilian and French, reminded me of good times, even though I couldn’t understand much of his words.
Upon entering Jerome, I felt as though I were at home. The club, situated opposite a cemetery, is famous for attracting many business executives who are Madonna fans. Apart from its intimate atmosphere, a legend circulates that upon encountering the Elminster of Dungeons and Dragons, time and space become relative, and you are entrapped until the party ends.
Two Dirty Martinis, various life updates, and plenty of dancing happened until Laura and Bernardo arrived. When they found me, the venue was crowded but not enough to realise that Laura was with someone. Without explanation, she introduced him to Jacques and me.
Laura had always been discreet, mainly when it comes to relationships. Often, we would discover much later that she was interested in someone or even that she had a fling with them. I must confess that I admire her expertise in holding details as I struggled to keep the mystery.
At the bar to fetch another drink, Bernardo inquired if I wanted to join him in the club’s lounge, where we could talk more privately. I recounted my time in Portugal and asked him questions about my future aspirations for returning. I was okay with my lack of long-term goals, especially during this transitional phase. However, I couldn’t ignore my concern for not pursuing a defined path.
That wasn’t the first time I found myself in this position. As the years passed, and the twenties became more distant than the thirties, I began feeling the need to define certain aspects of life.
I was used to a different kind of pressure, and what were merely projections in my mind yesterday became my reality. It’s almost as if the youth hadn’t entirely departed from your being yet, but my body was in another space. I had to choose which to retain as I was between two sides.
Realising the conversation was turning into serious territory on what was meant to be an easygoing evening, Bernardo changed the subject, questioning who my French friend was. Witnessing his bold smile and a hint of curiosity, I suddenly felt compelled to bridge the gap between Brazil and France.
Nevertheless, in the game of seduction, timing trumps persuasion. Approaching Jacques, who stood near the bar, he introduced me to Mr. Muscles. A tanned man of average height, he likely had a milkshake of Whey Protein with testosterone topping for breakfast. Somewhat surprised by my friend’s agility, I asked about his opinion of Bernardo, but he was engaged in a flirtatious exchange with the Hulk.
Without wanting to deliver the bad news to Bernardo, I went to get my final drink. Realising I had likely depleted my bank account, I had no choice but to adopt a pasta and pesto diet until the next month. Laura and her friend approached me to say goodbye, encouraging me to check the clock.
Bernardo didn’t take long to find me, so I had to confess that Jacques was already taken by the Brazilian version of Ben Grimm. Although he seemed okay with that, I detected a hint of disappointment. Offering him my glass as a gesture of consolation, I asked if he felt leaving, to which he agreed.
Upon reaching the exit, Bernardo abruptly stopped, gesturing for me to wait a moment. He proceeded to walk towards Jacques, and I could do nothing but observe his movements. Whether it was the Martini, the magic mushrooms, or a retaliation impulse, when I saw the designer approaching the Frenchman, I sensed Jacques was utterly disconcerted and his manners a bit too horny.
I never discovered what Bernardo said to Jacques that night, but I am sure those few words breached laws across multiple countries.
En route back, I observed the city’s streets transitioning from the farewells of the previous night to the preparations for a new day. While people in their dark attire and heavy makeup journeyed back home, groups of cyclists were already pedalling along the avenues. As the bars closed, the bakeries began presenting their diverse breakfast options. And so, São Paulo metamorphoses ceaselessly.
Concessions need not be made for us to become someone or achieve something. Changes happen constantly, naturally leading one thing to depart for another to enter, but this does not imply that both do not belong in the same place.
And so, traversing the city, I made peace with who I once was and will someday be.
A.M.
Sexo&Cidade 
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