I’m out on the tiny balcony with Bailey, the grand-dog, watching the world go by.
This particular morning, I saw a young man of undetermined INS status, black garbage bag slung over one shoulder, going for one recyling can to the next, with a special metal stick–perhaps there is a magnet on the end–extracting aluminum cans from the bins and popping them into the bag. Surely not the happiest work in the world, but instead of pity, I felt admiration. He was clean and, like all Americans, from Somewhere Else. I could be all wet, but it struck me as… Read More »