In Sebaco there was a fruitstand on the main road near my apartment. It was made of wood slats, a metal roof, and had a rug over the dirt floor. The woman who owned it was called simply La Nubia, though she wasn't Nubian as far as I could tell. I was welcome to sit behind her on the floor inside, to have shade while I sketched. La Nubia would give me pieces of fresh-cut pineapple in the heat of the day. I think I was a little sideshow for the locals and may have brought her a bit more business. I felt protected by the townspeople in many ways. Painting watercolors in ninety degree heat was frustrating, so I often used pen and ink instead, as in this drawing. I did not own a camera, so all my visuals were either artwork or memories. When I was leaving Sebaco for good because of the escalating war, La Nubia was the only person who saw me. It was early morning. I waved at her from the bus. She waved back and our eye contact said it all.