The deliriums carried away by the caravels. The villages that do not become cities. The child who doesn't know what future he will have. The lady who has the marks of time on her face. The old man in the striped shirt who lost his thoughts to the wind. The washerwomen. The little neighborhood shops. The vain accessories of those who have never been to a high-class dinner. The dreams that are still deep in the soul… These Minas Gerais of the Brazilian people.