Today was May Day. The holiday of the worker. And I had the day off. I spent it on the beach, dropping reals on caiprinhas, cold beers and churascos (grilled meat or cheese on a stick). As the sun disappeared behind a grey cloud, I sat under an umbrella to duck the storm. I chatted with a worker at the beach joint named Luigi, who was kind to me. He sat long enough for his sun-glassed boss to berate him for slacking. I watched him cart off heavy umbrellas and stacks of chairs as I sat in comfort sipping a small glass of beer. He said the job wasn't worth it. $20 dollars a day with a sun-glassed boss breathing down his neck while he carried up and down parasols and chairs. I sat sheepishly in my luxury. I slipped $15 in his bag, and slunk away back to my posh room that had been neatly cleaned. My clothes had been folded by the maid, and were hung up nicely. This world is neither just nor fair, and I am on the receiving end. This world oft can be. Happy May Day, Luigi. You will remain on my mind as I journey on.