The hinterland will become the sea and the sea will become the hinterland. The roundworms that try to feed on the brain of Silvinei Vasques, former head of the Federal Highway Police, will die of hunger. Standing on tiptoe, with velvet steps, Alexandre de Moraes will come up behind Jair and give him a huge scare: boo! Debalde; the hiccups will continue. Will there be many hats and few heads — or will it be the opposite? The flight over the churches of Drummond will leave in the highest tower the ringing bell, the lost sound, mourning devotees who knock their knees, the sacristan who cleans the altars, the dead who think, alone, in silence, in the catacombs and sacristies, the god covered in wounds, the virgin cut with swords, and the steps of passion, which lie inert in solitude. O future life! We will not raise you. The dogs will attack their owners, except Silas Malafaia, who, faithful to Bolsonaro's carrion, will keep Bananinha, Flávio and other vultures and hyenas away, until they succumb to their own venom, or a fresh corpse attracts the fury of prey. There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. At 3:45 pm on June 6, senator Teresa Cristina, from the agro-extreme right, will make an angry speech on an unimportant topic. As usual, no one will pay attention. The British National Party, the Alternative for Germany and the French National Regroupment will win the 2026 European elections. The new fascist axis will support Putin's consecration as Tsar of Europe. Wherever I go, I will feel your steps next to me. Melania Trump will fall madly in love with Geraldo Alckmin and will be reciprocated. Lu will file a lawsuit with the Vatican to annul the marriage. Brazilians will continue to be shallow, predictable, without great feelings, resigned to national dormancy. Except you, of course. Luciano Huck will run for President with Angélica as vice-president. Jorge Luis Borges is right, there will never be a door. Don't wait. Not in the black twilight, the beast. Xandão will force Bolsonaro to, with his hands behind his back, drink water from a glass filled to the brim. Not even then will the champion of poor things stop sobbing. Michel Temer and Janaína Pascoal will resurrect and participate in BBB, from which they will be expelled for indecent exposure and for not knowing TS Eliot. From error to error, the exasperated spirit will continue to reenact everything it did and was, but now with shame for the reasons that were late revealed, with the awareness of things done poorly or done to the detriment of others, which it once considered virtuous. The vuvuzela, Odebrecht, hula hoop and Sérgio Cabral's napkins will come back into fashion. Binyamin Netanyahu will win the Nobel Peace Prize, the Winter Olympics, the Gramado Kikito and, ahead of the Mossad passers, the Golden Standard of the sambadrome. As if he doesn't want anything, Tarcísio de Freitas, the seductive fifth Beatle, will whisper in Madame Bolsonaro's ear: "Michelle, ma belle, sont des mots que vont très bien ensemble". The jabiraca will have goosebumps. They will continue: the marketing of the way of life, wild urbanization, the propaganda of everything, everyone and above all of oneself, the commodification of souls, social anomie, the sterilization of nature, Jovem Pan. The fierce Canarian team will not make it past the round of 16 at the World Cup. The final will be played between Venezuela and North Korea. Sparing no effort in its frantic promptness for the good of the country, Banco Master will become the official sponsor of the Supreme Court's gatherings in Lisbon, New York, Singapore, Baden-Baden, Faria Lima and Saint Moritz. The strictest darkness will land on the rocky road to Minas, and the machine of the world, repelled, will gradually rebuild itself, while you, evaluating what you have lost, will continue slowly, with your hands thinking. Donald Trump will adopt the Roman toga as his official attire, laurels on his forehead, harp in his hands, Havaianas on his right foot and a horseshoe on his left. Lula will be re-elected president, unless he starts cutting his toenails in the bathroom. Sensitive to public opinion, the STF will adopt a code of ethics with a single article: everything will belong to whoever arrives first. In heaven, on earth, wherever, our love will live. Between pain and nothingness, Dias Toffoli will opt for a lychee caipirinha prepared by the bartender in his office. Unimaginative chroniclers will pepper their writings with asterisks and nonsense.