Tragedy struck while we were sleeping. Our host, the night before a bubbly man who welcomed us warmly to La Casa Hilda, was visibly distressed. He served our breakfast while the news was on. The story was of a fire in the hospital only several miles away. The patients on the upper floors were not able to be evacuated in time. It felt inappropriate to continue buttering my toast. I felt sad, but unable to feel what one feels when tragedy strikes closer to home. The sirens that annoyed me the night before now had a story.
What were the women in the picture doing?