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Unformatted text preview: , hopes to own a Radio Shack some day, and delivers pizzas for Little Caesars four or five nights a
week. He earns the minimum wage, plus a dollar for each delivery, plus tips. On a good night he makes about fifty bucks. We cruise past
block after block of humble little houses, whitewashed and stucco, built decades ago, with pickup trucks in the driveways and children’s toys
on the lawns. Pueblo is the southernmost city along the Front Range, forty miles from Colorado Springs, but for generations a world apart,
largely working class and Latino, a town with steel mills that was never hip like Boulder, bustling like Denver, or aristocratic like Colorado
Springs. Nobody ever built a polo field in Pueblo, and snobs up north still call it “the asshole of Colorado.”
We turn a corner and find Meadowbrook. All the trailers look the same, slightly ragged around the edges, lined up in neat rows. Kabong
parks the car, and when the radio and the headlights shut off, the street suddenly feels empty and dark. Then s...
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This note was uploaded on 02/25/2014 for the course MGMT 120 taught by Professor Litt during the Spring '08 term at UCLA.
- Spring '08