Eileen used to sell passion fruit on weekdays. Already ripe, with slightly wrinkled skin, sweet. She cut it in half so that customers could eat the fruit directly with a spoon, taking in the thick nectar. This has been her full-time job for the past five years: selling passion fruit as cheaply as it has ever been in any European country.

Outside of work, every Saturday, Eileen would leave the concrete city and set off on a journey of two hours each way to the rainforest. She would spend the whole day there, and her family wondered why she would travel all that way. The girl would return with a bouquet of white flowers and several branches of fern. They stood by her bedside until the next Saturday, giving off a fragrance, especially when the moonlight fell on them. Of course, these flowers also made her dream of the tropics: as if she was living there, among the fruit trees and flowers, listening to the wind and birds, and not even knowing that the city existed.