Early Sunday, I find Adolfo in the street. He is focused, washing his car. Each swipe of his rag an artist’s stroke across the canvas. His ‘51 Plymouth Cranbrook, his masterpiece. He has had this car for 38 years. He knows every curve, he knows how to make the chrome truly shine. He also knows all the dents, each chipped away piece of paint. He shows equal care and respect to both the virtues and the flaws. This car is family. As Adolfo wipes away, there is pride in his eyes, and love, unconditional love.