Nueve
Ernesto stares out the rain-streaked window as his bus careens west along the Tamiami Trail. He remembers when it was mostly country out here, with only the occasional housing development catering to lower-income families moving from cheap rented apartments or trailer parks into an actual home. Now everything’s built up as Miami extends its arm farther out into the Everglades. Even Sweetwater, once a no-man’s land on the other side of a canal, is as crowded and crime-ridden as any other comparable neighborhood in the county.
At one time Ernesto considered moving his family here so they’d have more space and a bigger yard for little Lourdes to play in. But the area always looked slightly off to him. “w*********h” was the term that came to mind, or that’s the impression he got when h
