I get home after half past seven. I open the door cautiously so as not to wake anyone up. I give myself a hot shower for half an hour, washing the sweat and the smell of weathering. As soon as I get out of the bathroom, my little daughter runs down the hallway still in her pajamas and hangs off my neck:
“Dad, you’re back!
The uprising in my arms and deep breath. The entire cold of the early morning, the muscle aches and the indifference of the street disappear in that second.
This work is not easy; it requires stomach, strength and constant discipline. But every time I see the city dawn clean and tidy, I know that my effort and that of my companions sustain the health of thousands of people who will never know our names. We do not seek applause or pity; only the elemental respect that any worker who earns bread with the sweat of his forehead deserves. That’s why, when they see us passing through their neighborhood, a simple greeting from the window reaches to illuminate an entire night of unveiling.
