Except for the peerless blue of the sky the world is black and white. The sun blasts all color from the streets ricocheting it up off the blinding white of the walls to be swallowed by the greedy sky.
A small, silver-haired old man carrying a chair moves up the street. He has his arm around his mother steadying her steps. Both are clad in priest black clothes. Small puffs of dust punctuate their progress over the cobblestones.
Slowly Diego escorts his mother to the shade of the fountain in the square. He sets the chair in front of the thin spout of water puttering into the hissing air. The old lady settles on the chair with immense slowness and dignity.
Diego leaves the square. The old lady sits and waits. There is no passage of time for there is no time. When he returns Diego is carrying a guitar case, black and cheap as his suit. He sets it down, takes out a battered guitar, a negra, and sets his one foot up on the edge of the fountain. His hands caress the guitar for a moment. He looks at the old lady and smiles. Then, bending his attention to the fretboard, he begins to play.
Causes Luke James Supports
Doctors Without Borders