Progress

Photo by David A. Stern

While walking to work this morning I passed three men laying hot asphalt. As one poured the black molten rock the other two spread it vigorously and as evenly as they could with their shovels. It looked like hard, smelly, toxic work. But I found a certain pleasure in watching them, even if only for a passing glance. There was a certain rhythm and coordination to it, like the pourer was the conductor and the shovels were violins; a song whose lyrics were sung in a foreign…