The sound of the factory was rude. The thud of the machines. Yahaira was in the office, on the second floor. Through the window, one could see the powerful industrial process manufacturing the company’s products: pistons, gears, conveyor belts. She had her bare feet propped up on the desk and her eyes closed. She was dressed in black. Her feet were slender, though a bit large for a woman. She liked to imagine that the cla...