I don’t frequently translate what I write from Portuguese to English and vice versa. This is one of the exceptions:
Two weeks ago Paul felt morally compelled to stop his car in order to help a man who was waving at him with visible signs of distress.
It’s obvious that stopping in Maputo streets (as in any other big city) and offering help is more risky than chivalrous, but it was a middle-aged man and seemingly a foreigner. As a matter of fact, as soon as he said his first words, it was easy to conclude that he was Italian. At first Paul couldn’t understand what was going on. He was convinced that the trouble was with the Italian man’s car parked on side of the avenue.
Without actually stopping his own car or getting out, Paul tried to follow what the man had to say. In short, after all the trouble wasn’t the Italian or his car. According to him, Paul had hit the big time by stopping because he was now a candidate to buying two complete suits signed by Giorgio Armani, all by the bagatelle of ten thousand USD.
“Just that?” commented the potential buyer while preparing to drive away.
“Don’t go, my friend!” begged the Italian. “I can make it nine thousand… just for you!”
Humorously remembering that by chance he had a very legitimate Giorgio Armani shirt on, Paul kind of showed the collar to the Italian and with a goodbye smile explained:
“You know, I would even buy your suits if not for the fact that right now my closet is cluttered with Giorgio Armani stuff.”
And that’s how sad the crisis Europe has plunged into.