[Stream of consciousness, Friday Jan. 9]

So there’s a house a half-block away. A dirty white house. At the end of the alley behind us. Ramshackle. Rotting. A blight. Vacant. Long time a shell. Wearing a “No Trespassing” sign on its chest. A pox on the neighborhood. Yesterday there was loud racket that direction. I went to look. Walked to the end of the alley. Dsemolition in process. Bulldozer. Team of three. Men of color. Working diligently. One on the dozer, two muscling debris. Very dark. Very foreign. Origin obscure. Nationality nebulous. I watched for a few minutes. Admiring efficiency. Admiring energy. They knew what they were doing. I had the phone out, taking pictures. I moved close. Hoping to engage. At another time I would not have. Probably not even have noticed them. But this is the ICE age. And I am now a Quaker. Seeing that of God in everyone. I said a few words to one of the men. Maybe three feet between us. Something like “Hey Man . . . Wow! You guys are doing a great job!” He turned his head for only an instant. He gave me only the briefest glance. A look that said I don’t understand English. Or I am wary of you. And your camera. In no time the house vanished. And so did they. Those three men from god-knows-where were gone to god-knows-where. Without contact with any of us in the neighborhood. A shame. And soon there will be a new house there. Enhancing.