They arrive in the city at dawn, in old, loaded vans.

They line up along the sidewalks lit by the midday sun, sitting on the ground and on doorsteps, texting on their cell phones, smoking cigarettes. They watch the girls and well-dressed people hurrying past on their way to the offices.

Some still seem too young to be working, Others seem to have been working for too many years, their eyes tired, their skin dark and wrinkled, their hands dry and calloused. When they greet, they offer their wrist, so as not to dirty the “engineer” / “architect” / “doctor” / “miss”.

Others, proud and muscular, balance on the scaffolding with the naturalness of cats, their tattoos peeking out beneath their painted clothes. They are like demigods in disguise – fleeting Atlases on the city’s rehabilitated facades.

At the end of the day, in even older, loaded vans, they all leave the city – where they will never live.