When life was almost in the end, she changed his life.

In a village near Las Vegas, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a rusty rifle, an old uniform, a muscle car from the late forties, and a greyhound for company. This man is an old tired man, he’s in his late eighties and alone, for he had no sons nor daughters and his wife had died some twenty years before due to one terrible disease called cancer. Retired and with no ambitions he spent most of the time in his house either fixing it, repairing his car, or watching the football and drinking some good cold beer. The house of this man was the first of the town. One day a girl came knocking on the door, she was about fifteen and looked quite ragged. She looked burnt by the sun, dehydrated; her hair was long and bushy. She had scratches and stains of blood on her brunet skin. She had come from far away; she was left in the desert alone when she and her illegal immigrant parents had died in a car-crash in one of the loneliest roads in the whole of America. She asked for shelter, for help, for mercy. This man had seen worse things in war and was cold-hearted. He was old, and tired, and really didn’t care about this. If they had crashed in a road so lonely was their fault, they were probably going too fast. But this girl reminded him so much of his long-lost wife, and how when she had needed it, people had denied her help. That moved him, and he decided to intervene. He let her live with him for the next years, he became like a father to her. He helped her to get the citizenship and made her his only heir. One day he died, then, she became governor for the state of Nevada and now this cemetery, in which we are standing, carries his name.

PAAR