The first time I saw Rosa, she was standing barefoot on the sidewalk in the rain.

It was nearly ten at night, and our neighborhood had already gone quiet. I had just finished washing dishes when I noticed movement outside the kitchen window. An old woman stood near the curb with two plastic grocery bags at her feet. Her gray cardigan clung to her thin frame, soaked through from the drizzle.

Across the street, my neighbor Daniel slammed his front door so hard the sound echoed down the block.