It’s the last weekend of the month, so Di Leshea Scott’s Saturday begins with a long wait at the post office to get a money order for her rent. From there, she drives north to hand-deliver it at a drab office building just outside Detroit’s city limits. As always, this ritual leaves her angry and frustrated; her landlord refuses to give her a lease, she says, or to make basic repairs. When it rains, she needs three buckets upstairs to catch leaks. The back porch is collapsing before her eyes.
She stands outside the landlord’s empty office and sighs, then ...