The morning the driveway vanished felt like the city blinked. I woke to the thump of boots and the metallic scrape of chains; across the street, a bright orange roll-off sat where our neighbor’s BMW used to rest. The air carried the sharp tang of sawdust and the sweeter memory of orange blossoms from the yard, and, beyond the rooftops, the skyline of downtown Los Angeles shimmered in a haze of heat. It was the kind of ordinary Los Angeles day that promised both chaos and possibility.
The Call: A Renovation and a Revelation
