Geraldo pushed his lawnmower down the street where the homeowners tipped best.  He didn't mind that most lawns he passed were professionally mowed, combed, and swept by men in white jackets. Those lawns, too, were as smooth as a golf course. He kept his mind on the right side of things.  A man like himself can still contribute to the fight against the jungle in his own small way. The soil is promiscuous. 

There would always be the need for weeding and trimming.  He was from El Salvador, where as a child he had witnessed evil in the jungle. Evil smiled, beckoned, and encircled while smoking cigarettes and wearing guns.

Mrs. Smith laid pillows on the swing. Her palacio was surrounded by a large wraparound porch with tall white columns. The pecan trees and the smooth lawn were exquisite. It was a pleasure to work here.

Mrs. Smith waved. "Hello, Jerry. It's a wonderful day."

The heart belongs here. Geraldo pictured himself on a porch such as this, toasting his toes in the sun. But with kids. It's even more wonderful when children burst forth from happy homes.

Even though Geraldo had no work today, he fiercely cherished the sanctity of orderly cleanliness he found on this street. The wind blew an empty coke can along the curb. The can rolled and bumped along as if it could still teach the world to sing, with its bold red and silver paint and a brand name known even in his poor childhood village. Geraldo, on the other hand, acknowledged his romantic side and picked up the trash, crushing it, and stuffing it into his back pocket. Because his back was still in good shape, he would be needed here another day. The soil is promiscuous. And the jungle must be repelled.