Across the street from my apartment building, in what used to be a vacant lot, a backhoe performs it's balletic, spinning dance, bowing it's long, yellow neck, burying it's head in the surprisingly dark soil, lifting up its load and depositing it in a pile several yards away.
A man and his son watch the process with fascination, and the father turns to me and says, "Another condo going in."
I agree that, yes it looks like another is going in, like the many up and down this block, and he continues, "It's 'cause of the stadium going in, people are buying up all the lots, man."
"It used to be," he says, "that after ten PM, you stayed inside, but now," he shakes his head, amazed, "now, you go out and you see people, you know, walking the streets, unafraid."
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