TIME AND PLACE
Actual time is not of prime importance. Sometime in the last fifty or sixty years, or so. In barren lands lying south of the Mexican-American border.
Center stage is the dry, dusty, biscuit-brown central plaza of a small town in the mountainous area of Mexico. A monument or two. Trees. Perhaps a fountain with sprinkling water. Old, wooden benches, and tables and chairs around. At the rear of the plaza stands a large, wide, thick arch, having a flat top and a closed door in the center. It is covered with pictures of Our Little Roses of Honduras.