The Postscript: Piccolina

I was walking down an old street in an old part of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.

Brightly colored wooden doors line the streets. There is no indication from the outside what might be within. It could be a courtyard filled with flowers and a fountain, or a small business, or somebody’s kitchen. It is a mystery what is behind these doors, and so, when one is open, naturally I look inside.

Last week, a door was open, and I saw a few items of clothing for sale, so I stepped inside. That’s when I met Piccolina.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“That is Piccolina,” a woman at a sewing ma...