Beside me, on the stone steps of this quiet courtyard, there is a lame man - the sweeper. He is so thin that the end of his belt comes back around to its buckle. He's trying to feed a puppy the rest of his lunch. He reminds me that we all need something to need us, and that maybe that's why we Westerners, who are so independent, mostly fail to understand family in this way, and need to come up with things like 'quality time' to justify such a base...