Tool bag in hand, I went through two double doors, then climbed three flights. Brown paint chipping off the walls, a layer of dust on the steps, smell of turkey bacon beating back the stale piss. And from up above, I heard the sound of a suitcase banging against the steps. A brown-skin lady lumbered downstairs. Two plaid suitcases in her hands, two beige children tugging at her arms. Today’s lucky losers, I assumed. Another tenant that hadn’t paid, tried to sneak back in and was getting kicked out again. They looked the part.