Monday morning, October 21st, 2013. It is a crisp 39º Fahrenheit (4º Celsius) under a cobalt-blue-sky dawn in midtown Charlotte (NC, USA). Mateo Lopez, a 45-year-old cell-phone tower technician from Nicaragua, has just backed his work van up to an abandoned, small, brick, one-story building off South Kings Drive. He thinks: Won’t be long before this little rathole gets bulldozed. Wonder how much the new apartments will rent for? Ah, mucho dinero, estoy seguro. [‘much money, I am sure’ in Spanish] He checks his task-assignment printout for the day, gets his tools and climbing gear, and then begins walking on the crumbling, weeds-growing-in-the-cracks asphalt parking lot behind the now-broken-windowed-with-vertical-bars-bent-out-of-parallel-for-crackhead-entry/egress, onetime, low-end saloon (which was previously a tax accountant’s office, and before that a lax acupuncturist’s malpractice).