Angelica arrives, nearly stumbling at the station. She plumps down; her face describes her tiredness. She could start crying at any moment. She is definitely not the cleverest cartonera. With her trolley she walks through the streets that have been already checked by the younger ones with their good rolling carts.
I look at her trolley and see that she didnt have a good day, once again. 10 kilos carton maybe, the trolley is not full at all.
I took her jewels to my girlfriends father. He looked at them and told me that they dont have any value. Its not really the message she is waiting for. "You have to try to sell these fake jewels," she says to me. "I need the money to buy shoes for my little daughter."
I ask myself how old she is; she gave me an impression of a woman of more than 40 years. Probably it is the war of attrition that changes everything.