Two large images, portraits of women, displayed on the front of an abandoned house. I haul six cases of water to a woman living in the home next door. There are only a few houses left standing on this street, two, maybe three of those inhabited. Lush undergrowth and sapling trees reclaim old foundations. I ask the woman about the images. She says the city is going to tear the house down. The images, I ask again. She retreats inside, room dim, reply trailing off. I can’t hear what she says. I return to the truck under their level gaze, serene in the face of the inevitable.