One day and Indian man and an Indian woman stand toe to toe trying to heal, trying to give and receive professions of love despite learned feelings of inadequacy. A white man walks straight up and interrupts, begging for a dollar. (Again and again his situation is more pressing than theirs. The weight of a dollar paramount to the weight of grieving ancestors behind us and broken generations stretched out before us.) This Indian man and Indian woman are aware of his lies and spend a dollar to send him away. Their moment is lost. This is the refrain of 500 years. When will you learn to not interrupt?