A partially crushed can of Bud-lite sat posthumously atop a table holding up the final eviction notice. Formal parchment that had long ago been executed turned mellow yellow by errant streams of light from unadorned windows. It rested in peace now on the table neither as important nor as threatening as the words, “ You have thirty days to evacuate the premises; “ once had made it so. Two men attired in blue jump suits and latex covered hands spoke to each other thru white cotton masks as they removed the apartment’s contents. “ What a mess,” one said depositing discarded papers into an empty trashcan.  His coworker nodding in agreement was bear hugging an armchair out the door when he bumped the table and with a quick reach out of the other man grabbed the beer can before spilling over the letter.  Resetting the can he leaned in closer to read it. Sullivan Bank of Camino County; this is a final degree and you are hereby ordered to remove yourself and all belongings prior to October twenty seventh. “Reading other peoples mail is a crime kid,” came a voice from over his shoulder. The startled man stood straight up and made an excuse,” So what, it was just laying there. Thought maybe it was trash.” “Take it easy kid, every house we ever go into has one of those letters somewhere in it.” Looking down at the letter he picked it up crumpled it in one hand and did a one shot over his shoulder into the trash. “ It’s all just a glass half empty or glass haft full to us. These folks are looking at it haft empty I am sure, but for you and me it’s a job; and that’s half full in my book.”