What grace given as redemptioncan this grace be now? she wonders,walking past his corner againin the glassy white glare of 6 o’clock,seeing what little is leftof what he gave his life to. This was a man who worked the same jobfor twenty-seven years, fixing machinesmade by other men, machines meant to breakfrom wear, from neglect, from war.A man who worked in a concrete boxon the corner of Patterson and Mainin a soiled, quarter-sleeved jumpsuit,washing away the work each nightback home – c...
