Cassandra daydreams about America. She saves her silver coins in a show that she got to take home because the shoestring was defective. She has been working at the shoe factory for three years and has only managed to save $24 US dollars. Her smile still radiates with optimistic goddesses looking forward to tomorrow, though. I would like to know how many tears of hers are in my shoelaces. I would like for her to know that the sweat from her brow has traveled across oceans and is scattered throughout seventeen states of America by the feet of passing people who sometimes take for granted what we have grown so accustomed to have. If only those people thought about Cassandra every time they tied their shoes perhaps the world would be a better place. Perhaps?