The Young Man Looking for Love

“I can sum up my life in one sentence,” declares Maki Hirose. “I’m a young, straight, very available guy.” “Very” is the key word, he emphasizes. Maki’s a photographer, and he’s shy when he’s not behind the shutter, so his straightforward, single-minded Match.com-like description leaves out a lot of things that need to be included for the sake of total accuracy and complete honesty. Let’s start our Maki snapshot with sweet and funny…

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The Four Funny Faces

I saw it under the light of the streetlamp outside my house. Something — or someone — was staring at me. As I walked to the front gate, I realized that it wasn’t one face but four that were peering out at me. One was smiling, one was frowning, one was mouthing off, and one was gleefully sticking out its tongue. Like many of the houses in my neighborhood, mine has a wall out front. When I moved in, the wall was falling down, raining bricks on the sidewalk as people passed by. I tore…

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The Caretaker of God’s Garden

There’s a padlock on the majestic wrought-iron gate that guards the dead at Lawrence Cemetery. The plot’s red-brick wall is reinforced by a ring of shiny silver chain link that’s crowned by barbed wire. Nobody can get in — and no bodies can get out — unless James M. Sheehan lets them. James is God’s gardener. He has been keeping the cemetery alive for, well, it’s going on 55 years now. Before he pulls open the gate, he stops to brush away the vines growing…

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The Guy Who Really Gives a Fig

“Buon Giorno!” Fresh from Sunday mass, Joe Vitale shouts this greeting to the sky. His towering fig trees await. At this house, he has eight that form a green canopy over his postage stamp of a front yard. Below them, sheltering in their shade, are a half dozen cuttings he’s rooting. In the back, he has four fine trees. At his other house, around the corner, he’s blessed enough to have two. And now he wants to give me one. Joe with his fig trees. “I love the fig trees,”…

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The Metal Tamer

The freight elevator in the century-old factory building is in use. But the stairs are free, so Bernard Klevickas, clutching a paper coffee cup, begins the trek to the fifth floor at the top. As he climbs the tired cement steps, the acid scent of industrial chemicals follows him. “It’s messy,” he says as he opens the door. “I tried to clean it up, but…” Messy is a pretty lame description for the way his 900-square-foot art studio looks, but that’s OK. Bernard…

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