CASTRO

The day is brilliant and sunny and the students shine too as they enter and leave the Institute of Art. Five blocks away a girl of two years old sleeps face down on the street. Her pillow is a piece of trash. Her mother looks up at me calmly. I kneel down. She asks if I can call those policemen down the block because there is a shelter somewhere, she has papers for it, she is waiting…I ask her name. ‘Castro’… she stares blankly…. Still… ‘Mariana’… ‘hola.’ -Hola Mariana, mi nombre es Lucas. Ya te los llamo. I’ll call the Police for you… her daughter snores a little.