In the pristine, manicured world of Ridgeview Estates, I am the man who exists in the periphery of vision. At fifty-six years old, I am the janitor and maintenance worker for a neighborhood where the automobiles cost more than a decade of my wages combined. I live in a metal storage room tucked behind the maintenance office, a space so narrow that I can nearly touch both walls simultaneously if I stretch my arms. My life is a collection of mop buckets, a single cot, and the heavy silence of a man who has lost everything. Years ago, I was...
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