The door leading to her office is ajar and propped by a queue spilling into the field. Why the hell is the line so long? I squint as I park the car by the curb and exit the vehicle.
“What’s happening?” I ask Jane, one of the women I had seen around the pack several times.
“Thank the goddess you’re here. We have been waiting in this queue for hours! Rosa has refused to show up,” she says, frustrated. It’s a few minutes past ten A.M.; it is way past the time she should be here.
The murmurs from the crowd turn into aggravated stomps and hisses.
“Is this the first time this is happening?” I ask.
“I’ve been here throughout last week, and it’s the same thing. The day she manages to come, she only sees about the first ten persons before she magically comes down with a sudden strange illness.
