Within the subdivisions named for species of trees, there are the gates and the guards, the houses that are architectural siblings sired by the same developer, their backyards sprawling golf courses, the landscape scraped from the skin of a dollar bill, trimmed hedges, miles of mowed grass, the only pedestrians the roving ethnic laborers who maintain it all, not a single speck of litter on the smooth, pristine roads, only the fleets of golf carts, all the pretty flowers, the big palm trees, all that and the residents still live in the mouth of a rat.
The thing about Boca Raton
