Little girls in church:
Girl 1: "Where's your sister?"
Girl 2: "She's at HER dad's house."
Girl 1: "Liar! Her dad isn't out of prison yet! She's with her grandparents."
Girl 2: "Shut up or I'll beat you up! You're the liar..."
Flor is a 30ish widow who lives alone with her 9 year old son. She earns money by cleaning homes, ironing sheets and the like and lives in a mostly brick structure on the street built alongside the exposed water main. The other side of the water main has homes made out of cardboard and scrap metal. The "road" is mud with planks put over the really bad spots. They are within a stone's throw of the main drug square, where addicts crouch under makeshift lean-to's, hiding from the sun as they light their cigarettes and crack.
She came over to clean my house this week and we were chatting...
Flor: I want to start some kind of project for the kids here. There are so many young girls getting pregnant...the drugs...I want to do something for those less fortunate. I'm going to talk to some of my patrons and see if they won't donate to this cause. Do you think they'd come visit us here in the "comunidade?"
I love Flor. She's such a powerful, dreaming, unstoppable woman.