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</div></div><br/><span style="font-size: 18px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf">Since moving from Brazil to New York, it was rare for Luca to travel in anything but a city bus, a cab, or a subway train. The best way to see the sights, hand down was by walking and that was something that Luca did much more frequently.  In the passenger seat of Marcus' car, Luca made careful observations on how tidy his car was, and assumed that Marcus was quite organized. Luca was either or, happy with organized chaos over complete disorder. The young Brasilero was gazing out of the passenger window, when Marcus mentioned his problem with English.<br/>
<br/>
<b>"I no pay attention in the English class. We have to take for school the English in Brazil. I learn to read and write the English, but to speak is very bad. It not sound very good."</b><br/>
<br/>
Luca was delighted to receive the news that Marcus offered to help him learn more English, as well as show him around New York City. <b>"I would love to, Marcus. This is ..ehh...excited?"</b><br/>
<br/>
While Marcus' phone was in his hands, the screen went dark.<b> "I think I break phone? It not work."</b> Luca said, holding the device until Marcus was at a stop sign or a red light in order to fix it, and he could then put his own cell phone number into his contacts.<br/>
<br/>
In New York, there was probably no shortage of cuisines, cultures and languages that were as unique as the world itself. It was, after all, a melting pot. <b>"You will to dance Samba. Very.. eh..fluid expression. I teach you, and you teach me the English."</b><br/>
<br/>
No one could have been more surprised than Luca when Marcus pulled up to the curb and parked in near a club called Luar. Luca had figured that Marcus would probably grow tired of him and he would be taken home to the apartment and have to listen to the catty bitchiness the others had for each other. It was main reason that Luca always found a reason to be out of the dwelling when he wasn't in front of the camera. Petty jealousies aside, Luca observed the flow of the people coming into the club. He bit his lower lip worriedly because he was wearing shorts and not slacks and shoes that were dancing material. Gazing at Marcus had a desired effect of pushing the doubts aside, because once he heard the rhythmic  2/4 beat of the music, Luca became excited and wanted to dance.<br/>
<br/>
Even as Marcus led him to the bar, Luca was jiggling his hips, and tapping his foot to good songs that he hadn't heard in a month. It felt like forever to him. <b>"I not know we were coming to this place. So surprising of you!" Luca poked him in the arm, playfully.</b><br/>
<br/>
There were many types of Samba, because Brazil was separated in different provinces. Where Luca came from it was Samba Pagode, which used a blend of stringed instruments and congo drums. But regardless of the origin, it still spoke to Luca in the same language.<br/>
<br/>
<b>"Obrigado, this is very nice. I like!" </b>Luca replied.<br/>
<br/>
No sooner than they were settled at the bar, did a man approach. His accent wasn't as thick, but Luca could recognize the man was a Brasilero like himself. He smiled, listening to the music with a little bounce of his head, then turned to hear Marcus speaking with the man, named Tomaso. He did appear as though he were underage, his skin smooth and unblemished --all the telltale signs of youth.<br/>
<br/>
<b>"Aqui está, senhor. Identificação." </b>Luca spoke, mainly to see if he would or could also speak his lingo. His identification was displayed, handed over to Tomaso to verify he was drinking age.<br/>
<br/>
Afterwards, the ID was handed back, and Luca was returning the ID to his wallet, he offered a smile to Marcus. <b>"How you know Cachaça? It tastes better in Caipirinhas. You should try, mm."</b><br/>
<br/>
Still any cachaça was good cachaça and Luca wouldn't turn down the drink. As he lifted it to drink, he made a toast. "To good friends and better cachaça. <b>Saúde!"</b></span></span>