The place, Chinatown (it makes no sense to call this part of town the International District); the time, thirty or so minutes ago.
A handsome young man—hardhat, orange shirt, tough pants, boots—looks into this hole. A GMC truck is parked behind him. And out of its passenger side, the word "water" on its door, appears an older man. He is reading a clipboard, and, eyes not leaving the clipboard, says to the young man: "Have you taken a confined space class yet?" The young man, eyes still looking into the hole, indicates with his head that he has not. I'm amazed that there is such a class in the world of learning.
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