A large round drop of milk floats in the green desert sky, reflected in the face of the boy who is only 14 years old. Born in 1890, in the summer of that year Dixon was glowing somewhere. And he is in the northwest, looking for things he never knew he had forgotten.
Laborer. The routine he loves so much is deeply engrained into his life, always tinged with the same colors. Years ago, his family had crossed the Atlantic all the way from Ohio. Now he's coming back. With measured movements, he brings his face closer, twisting his chin up, with rare curiosity. He remembers the sweet voice in which she said, "The song had to be about something that we really care about, that really happened."