Leche

I walk out the front door on a Saturday morning to see what the weather is like (why, I don't know... it is always the same - hot and humid) and I see the prostitute who lives under the bridge drinking milk with my host dad.  They are sitting on the front step talking, and she is drinking milk out of the carton.  Confused, I return inside.

You see... I learned last summer that she was a prostitute and that she lived under the bridge by my house.  One night, even, when my friend and I were walking home... she began to crawl out and it really scared us.

You can imagine my surprise, then, when I saw here hanging out at my house on a Saturday morning.

Later in the day, I asked my host dad if she was his friend.  He told me that she had gone to school with my host mom and that she has had a really hard life.  He told me that she lives under the bridge.

I guess they look out for her.  That really struck me.

Even though she has had a hard life and is the town's "lives under the bridge lady," people still treat her like a part of the community.  At least my host family does...

and that is something.