Yesterday I’d installed a bench at the spot where Tabitha and I had cleaned that first night. As promised, Eddie and Alice sat there—grumbling around a cigarette and drinking coffee, respectively. Pam was curled up between them.

“You’re not even glaring at it, you know,” Alice said.

“Yeah,” Eddie added. “You look happy or somethin’. Or at least not pissed off.”

I sipped my coffee. “I am happy. If today goes well, we won’t be staring at this shit anymore.”

“And that’s the only reason you’re happy?” Alice asked.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Guess the Phillies didn’t suck last night.”

Eddie stubbed out his cigarette. “It’s a fucking miracle.”

That seemed to satisfy her curiosity for now. Mentioning the game was a lucky guess. Only one thing—one person—dominated my attention all night long, and it sure as hell wasn’t baseball. Or that phone call with Harry. Given my current situation, considering the Game Time opportunity would have been the sensible idea.

Instead, I fell asleep with the taste of lemons on my tongue. And Tabitha’s long legs and pretty lips in my dreams. An indulgence if I ever knew one.

A burst of noise drew my attention. Natalia and Martín walked down the street with a small group of their friends, holding shovels and garbage bags. My parents were close behind with folks from their church. I caught snatches of their conversation in Italian, giving a small wave when they made eye contact.

Neighbors from all down the block began trickling toward the dumpster, carrying various tools. I hadn’t made a big deal about it. Just knocked on doors and let people know what the plan was for the final clear-out today. It surprised me, since a lot of them had already been helping.

A week had gone by already, and the change was dramatic. Since retiring, I was used to my presence evoking a swift anger or an almost patronizing sympathy. This sense of camaraderie, of working together, seemed totally different.

Boxing was a solitary sport. And for me, a mental game more than a physical one. Brute strength and speed had their limits. But there was no limit to scrutinizing your opponent’s weaknesses and then using them against them. No limit to analysis. No limit to honing a precise focus.

The vacant lot in front of me was getting cleaned up. But it was messy and unorganized. The shape of its future was fuzzy and tenuous. Everyone seemed to be having a good time working together though. Working toward something that would improve our community, no matter how small.

Harry’s words came back to me.

But what are you doing with your life?