One would think now that she was living in Chicago, in the same city as her [favorite son]
Inocencio, the Grandmother would find happiness. But no, that wasn’t the case. The
Grandmother was meaner than ever. She was unhappy. And didn’t know she was unhappy,
the worst kind of unhappiness of all. As a result, everyone was in a hurry to find her a house
of some sort. A bungalow, a duplex, a brownstone, an apartment. Something, anything,
because the Grandmother’s gloominess was the contagious kind, infecting every member of
the household as fiercely as the bubonic plague.
Because Baby [Inocencio’s brother] and Ninfa’s apartment had room to accommodate
a guest, it was understood the Grandmother would stay with them until she could find a
house of her own. This had seemed all well and fine when the plans were made longdistance with Uncle Baby shouting into the receiver that he insisted, that he and Ninfa
wouldn’t think of her staying anywhere else, that the girls were thrilled she was coming. But
now that she was actually sleeping in [granddaughter] Amor’s narrow bed with radios and
televisions chattering throughout the apartment, and doors and cupboards banging, and the
stink of cigarettes soaking into everything, even her skin, and trucks rumbling past and
shaking the building like an earthquake, and sirens and car horns at all hours, well, it just
about drove her crazy; even the rowdy Chicago wind, a rough, moody brute who took one
look at you and laughed. …

The second paragraph contributes to a central
idea by exposing
(1) a contrast between the Grandmother’s
expectations and reality
(2) the family’s denial of the Grandmother’s
needs
(3) a struggle between the family’s obligations
and desires
(4) the Grandmother’s appreciation of the family’s lifestyle