Mick peers out the window of Palisha’s car as they arrive at the Compassionate Heart Children’s Home, which is their third stop this morning. He’s lived in this country for over twenty years, and he’s seen a lot. There’s immense poverty in this world he calls home, people living on the streets or in old broken-down hovels and buildings, eking out a life selling produce and flowers, anything they can to survive living at the fringes of humanity. Until today, he’s never really looked at it hard, never paid much attention to this struggle to exist. He’s suddenly appalled at himself for ignoring these places, and others like them, after living in this country for so long.
Stepping out of the car, he ignores the pain in his side and casts a long, sweeping critical look at the tall, crumbling c
