How I first heard about Cuenca

There is something endearing about seeing eight-year old boys all dressed up in their Sunday best for church. Unlike little girls who tip the cuteness scale almost sideways, boys seem to be competing whether they or their clothes will grow up first. The kid almost always wins. The shirt is a little too large — he will grow into it — and the shoes are a tad too small — he grew right out of them. It is a dress rehearsal for adulthood and growing into your own skin. I am walking to El Centro to surround myself in beauty,…

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