By the time the last parent drove away, the clinic looked as though thirty children had made a coordinated effort to leave something behind. Training cones were scattered across both pitches, empty bottles had rolled beneath the benches, two footballs were sitting near the fence, and somebody had abandoned one shin guard in the middle of the grass without its partner. Most of the volunteers had already gone inside to put away the registration tables, leaving Luca and me with the equipment. I didn't mind. My shoes were muddy beyond saving, my hair had been tied up and retied so many times that I had stopped caring what it looked like, and my arms hurt from carrying boxes, but I had enjoyed the afternoon more than I expected. There was something satisfying about cleaning up after a day that
