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but there were so many different styles. There were singles, attached and row houses, and they were all painted different colors and in different states of repair. Some were neat and tidy with perfect lawns and flowers. Others looked like they were abandoned. In between the houses were stores, offices, apartments and factories, all stuffed together like a crazy patchwork quilt. And in the city there were people, lots and lots of people everywhere. Our old downtown had been a few stores, the Legion, the arena and the beer store.
    I’d been thinking about heading through the hole in the junkyard fence, but I was worried about running into those bullies. Even Catboy didn’t want to face those evildoers without the assistance of the Korean Kid. But I did want to see the cats.
    I changed direction and headed toward the main gate. I could find Mr. Singh and take him up on his offer to go in through the front.
    I approached the fence surrounding the junkyard. A canvas covering over the fence blocked what was on the other side, but I could see the cars—a mess of wrecks and parts strewn about—through some large rips and tears.
    There was a little guardhouse beside the fence, and towering over it was a gigantic billboard. It showed a big, shiny-new building and the words COMING SOON—CONDOS—LIVE THE CALIFORNIAN WAY!
    I’d seen enough tv shows set in California to know that there was nothing about that building that looked Californian. But, hold on a second, did that mean the junkyard was becoming condos?
    â€œHello, my friend!”
    I looked over. It was Mr. Singh. I waved, and he walked out of the guardhouse toward me.
    â€œAre they building condos here?”
    â€œYes, coming soon,” he said. “That is what the sign said when it was put up three years ago. It is now an old sign, and there are no condos planned, so maybe we should not always believe what is written.”
    â€œOh, that’s good.”
    â€œI am sure it will happen one day though,” he said. “Nothing stays the same.”
    I knew that.
    â€œThis neighborhood was for working people, regular people, but now the land is too valuable to stay a junkyard forever. I sit here and watch things. I guess that is what a security guard is supposed to do. But I also think about what I see. I have seen the stores on the street changing,” he said. “The dollar stores and instant loan places and Laundromats are being replaced.”
    â€œThey are? There’s still a dollar store.”
    â€œThere used to be three. Two are gone. One became a yoga studio, and the other is a place serving four-dollar cups of coffee. Can you imagine any cup of coffee in the world worth four dollars?” He laughed. “What are they doing, serving it in a cup made of gold?”
    I shook my head in agreement. I liked listening to him talk. It wasn’t only the things he said, but the way he said them. There was a sort of rhythm to his words that was musical.
    â€œYou know the condos are not far behind when the dollar stores start becoming yoga studios, art galleries and doggie bakeries,” Mr. Singh said.
    â€œDoggie bakeries?”
    He laughed. “There is one a few blocks away. It makes treats for people’s pet dogs. Some people have more money than they know what to do with. Well, it is their money. The condos will come.”
    â€œBut not now,” I said.
    â€œNot yet, but ultimately this whole city will become one gigantic condo development. There will be no room for factories, or businesses like this scrapyard.”
    â€œI guess that’s too bad.”
    He shrugged. “I will get another job. Maybe I will guard the condos instead. Are you here to say hello or to take a shortcut?”
    â€œCan I do both?”
    â€œOf course. Come, I will walk through with you. It is time for my rounds.”
    â€œYour rounds?” I asked.
    â€œA bad guard sits in his little house and reads the