We’re still eating breakfast on the balcony, which overlooks the parking lot where, for the last year and a half, a container has served as the office for the construction crew. The men gather in the morning, in their hats and long-sleeved shirts, drinking coffee and joking in Spanish, and then head off to their various labors. This morning, stepping outside, I felt a powerful urge to sing “Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go.”
