Insensitivity Training

We're turning around in the struggling neighborhood behind Earhart, en route to the movies but detoured by even more construction there, when we come upon a house that has simply collapsed into the street, like some giant applied his sledgehammer or puff puff blew lives down. There is a car parked directly across this divide, only a few feet from the spilled-over house parts, meaning we have to drive right over these splintered remains.

We feel bad about this, but if non-native and, peachier, native vultures have taught me anything, it's that conscience is a waste of time in dealing with disasters and those in their paths.

A few days later, I drive by one of the cleared lots on St. Andrew, two doors down from my pre- and post-K apartment. After: two enterprising young men have set up a mini-golf course on the now invisible remains of burned-down homes and are teeing off, having a grand old time,

chap.