Several dozen men stand outside the lumberyard on River street waiting for work, to be chosen for day jobs. Gathered in small groups, leaning on the wall, talking with each other, silent, wearing work clothes, spread along the whole block.

I drive past on my way to SCZC. Do they all get work? Who hires them? Unless I stop and watch I wouldn't know. I drive on.

Brigh clear skies this morning, scrubbed clean by yesterday's winds. The mountains are clearly visible.