Elizabeth, Liz to everyone but her Uncle Rodrigo, clutches her father’s hand tightly.
Consumed by boundless curiosity, her eyes dart all around town as they progress through her daddy’s errands. The air is hot, stale, and as always, dusty. There aren’t any paved roads in town, although she has seen a few in her short life further north, when her daddy had to bring the family along for work that lasted a few weeks. Liz hates the dust, orange and encompassing, it gets into every seam, every crevice. There is nothing worse than biting into her dinner, (when there was dinner) and feeling the grating crunch of grains of dirt in her food, between her teeth, up her nose as she sniffles.