‘But I wanted to thank you. For my sisters’ lives and my own. And, and for giving me a little dignity. We won’t forget.’ She takes the Vagrant’s hands in hers, pressing a shy kiss onto each palm and steps back. Three more come forward, following suit. Personal stories are shared, each mixed with different pains, and kind words are planted, like rare desert flowers. When the women have left, fault lines appear in the Vagrant’s face. Tears follow, silent.
