Valeria Zabelotsky had not planned on being a Supernanny
Two semesters. Four hours a week. You only got the scholarship at the end.
The bus dropped me off at an old housing project with degraded yards. Moldy timber beams were buried in the moist earth like the remains of a dead ship. The intercom at the entrance to the building looked like a thorax that had been operated on and stitched up dozens of times, until someone on the house committee had given up on it and sealed it with cheap plaster. The stairwell smelled like hamsters.