The rustic woman’s feet were bleeding profusely, with broken pieces of glass having pierced her sandals. She sucked in her breath as the dry wind blew over her sweating body. Everything was for him, even the blood, but he wanted only the purse. For a few seconds she remained half sitting, half reclining, with her vision riveted upon him in the semi-darkness of the lonesome street. Defeated by the severity of the situation she fell back, coiling, under his patronizing gaze. She felt only her…