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May 4, 2012
The men, uniformed with badges, threw everything out of the apartment. Tables, chairs. Her Nancy Drew books, loose in the grass. Dolls and toys. The cat in a carrier so they'd get it somewhere, anywhere. The men pushed the couch through the living room window, unceremonious, as though it were worthless. As though Dena and her mother were worthless. The uniformed men would go home to families with little boys and girls who would never see their furniture dumped out on the sidewalk. Eight-year-old Sarah watched wide-eyed, clutching the rag doll with yellow pigtails, while her mother cursed at the men.