Lost sister

I dreamed I found a long-lost sister of mine living in the far West. Apparently my dad had fathered a daughter with another woman (unlikely in the waking world, but this is the dream world). She was much younger than my brother and I. We had driven out to Phoenix to meet her for the first time. There was some sort of major NBA event going on, and she lived in a tent city along the highway near a stadium. Her teeth were ragged and she had a bit of stubble growing on her chin, but you could clearly see my dad in her features. You had to stoop to crawl into the tent, which smelled of death. Inside she had a wisp of a mattress on the ground and some shelves that were overflowing with pastel artwork, mostly drawings of basketball players. I learned that her mother was still living back in Washington D.C., but I never could figure out how my dad, who never left New Jersey, managed a liaison with the woman, or how none of us ever knew until now. I wanted to tell her about our family, and how our ancestors used to decorate churches in Southern Italy, and how her artwork was par for the course with family tradition, but by the time I thought of it she had slipped out of the tent and was gone in the crowds, leaving my brother and I alone.