The first time I saw Zita, her face was dirt streaked, she was barefoot, and her hair stuck out from her lop-sided ponytail like dandelion fluff. She wasn’t pretty. Not back then. She was skinny as a stick with eyes too big for her face. But from that moment on, it’s been Zita Graziano. That’s the answer. A shrink might be able to explain it, but I can’t. Some men have Jesus. God and country. A dream. Ambition. I have Zita.
