ABSTRACT
When I think of the Lower East Side, I think of Luz. Luz means clarity, light. I see Luz, or Lucita as everyone called her, then a little doll of a nine-year-old, with her shiny black braid, dark rosy face, and almond eyes, coming around the corner onto East Fourth Street. In my mind she is always carrying a bag of groceries from which a loaf of Italian bread is sticking out; though a block away, she is already smiling at me, this responsive and responsible woman-child.
