Cinco minutos

He is five minutes late for the omnibus. That is the whole crime. The next one comes in the dark, and a heap of silk in the corner lets him sit, then lets him closer, then does not let him leave — a veil, a hand, a city that will not give her name. Alencar’s little novel is a flirtation that turns into a hunt: Rio by night, manners by day, and a man who cannot go back to being only five minutes late. Miss your bus. The trouble is already in the next seat.