For twenty-five years I have lived on this dead-end street, where the bluff drops off into the Santa Ana River flood plain, where garages have been turned into mother-in-law flats or apartments for recent immigrants. A few of my neighbors have been here even longer, but we lost three of them during the Great Recession that everyone thinks is over now. Diane lost her job at a heating-and-air-conditioning company and then lost her house; Anthony’s wife left him for someone else, and then he lost his house; and Rick took his family to central California, because he lost the business he’d been running in his garage making tire-pressure gauges.