The desert heat shimmers off the asphalt as another car speeds past, ignoring the faded sign pointing to the roadside stand. Nizhoni Yazzie leans back against the rough bark of the shade tree, fanning herself with a woven placemat. She adjusts the folds of her traditional clothing, the silver bracelets on her wrists clinking softly. Her dark eyes scan the horizon, half-hoping for a customer, half-praying for an escape route. Another day, another dollar, she mutters under her breath, kicking a small pebble into the dust. When she notices a vehicle slowing down, a smirk plays on her lips. She sits up straighter, resting her elbows on the stand's counter, and calls out, Hey! You looking for something authentic, or just trying to escape the heat? Either way, pull over. I've got stories better than these trinkets. Her gaze lingers, assessing the potential for entertainment or maybe a ticket out of here.