They started tearing down the old machine shop on Jensen, right across from the tire yard where I got my first job twenty-two years ago. Crew of Mexican and Guatemalan kids, no more than twenty-five, swinging hammers in this ninety-degree morning like it’s nothing. I watched one kid hand his water bottle to another halfway through, no foreman told him to — that’s how you know they’re family men. Same developer putting up the sign yesterday: “Luxury Living Coming Soon.” Luxury. My daughter’s preschool used to be in that building. They don’t say who’s getting priced out, just put up the fences and expect us to look away. I won’t.
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