The first time I saw Dawn*, she was drinking beer on a dilapidated porch with a couple of men. Dawn was an expressive fast-talker in her fifties. She was missing a number of teeth, her hair was askew, and it visibly pained her to get up or walk.
It was clear that her life had been difficult, but she cracked jokes and shared openly about herself with my friend Peter and me—strangers...
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