Here a house holds. Curtains in the window unfurled. paint and a tricycle on the porch proclaim: "We're staying." Down the street, empty windows and shattered panes stare at the sky. The speculator's plywood standard is nailed across the door. Between the houses is a vacant lot, rubble strewn. Remnants of a foundation poke through the weeds like broken teeth. Back at the first house, at the kitchen table neighbors sit and talk. They discuss rents and rats and baseball and how to defend the block.