The rain began to pour down but the band played on. Reaching up into the sky with palms skyward, we embraced the cold drops thundering down, streams running through our hair, dripping down our noses, around the curves of our grinning mouths, and soaking what - if anything - remained of our costumes. Our feet stomped wildly in ankle-deep puddles in the cobblestone streets, and all around us, people shouted at the top of their lungs "Eu quero Frevo!" (I want Frevo music!). A few kilometres away on a sailboat, hastily left with a hatch wide open, a cabin began to fill up with rainwater, soaking its interior, saturating the bedding and destroying a book lying beside the pillow. Trapped - albeit voluntarily - by thousands of wet bodies in all directions, embracing, dancing, kissing and
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