A house down the street from mine is in the midst of an overhaul, the property overrun with workers from morning until night. As long as I’ve known the house the screened-in porch has been home to a series of porcelain figures, each of them carefully situated on outward-facing shelves to stare at the passers-by. Now the little anthropomorphic creatures are gone, the screen is gone, and I can tell by a sneaky peek through the front window that the sheetrock is gone. Everything is being washed clean. I imagine the small, dusty figures being buried in the backyard or under the house, allowed to rest in peace after keeping the house safe for who knows how long.