She wonders if it would be easier for her to understand if he were talking to a twenty-year-old Rosita Espinosa, who had never heard of the Wild Fire virus, who was hellbent on changing something in the world, anything, and feeling like she never would. A Rosita who threw herself into causes when they landed in front of her and lost interest just as quickly when she hit a wall.

She's not that Rosita anymore. She tries.

"I told someone that words written on paper don't even register to me anymore," she leads with; you can't eat money, can't do anything more valuable with reams of paper that laws are written on than burn them to start a fire. "We are. What place do you think you hold in my life?"