The granfino’s face turned pale. "You... you must be a politician," he stammered, looking at the reddish dirt staining the bills. "That money looks like it was buried in the ground".
The worker smiled. "It wasn't buried. This red dirt is the 'Terra Roxa'—the fertile soil where I planted 280,000 coffee trees seven years ago". He explained that while the city elite drove imported Cadillacs and Fords, it was the sweat and the "red earth" of the farmers that kept the country standing.
The granfino looked around with a sneer. He passed several tables until he came to a man sitting alone, quietly eating his lunch. This man was Black, wearing worn, rumpled clothes that looked as though they had seen years of hard labor. The granfino didn't even stop; he simply laughed with contempt.