LAS LISAS IS A DINKY, DROWSY TOWN IN the Dominican Republic, much like others that dot the small Caribbean country's northern coast. Chickens run in the one paved street; pigs root near the pink and green huts. At a roadside stand, a caldron of soup sits outside the door. A few men while away the afternoon hours playing dominoes in the shade of a nut tree.
But nothing in this Potemkin village is as it seems. Las Lisas traffics not in local cuisine or local color but in a dream--the dream of traveling to America. The food hut is actually a...
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