The smell of tar was thick in the night air and the white floodlight cut harsh wedges of darkness on everything; the machines, the people, the curbs. Dave Porterfield sighed, planted his shovel on the ground and tried to wipe the sweat off his face with a hand that was already grimy. He looked at the half a mile of wrecked asphalt, ripped up benches, and crumbled masonry in front of them. He had a kind face, a lump of a nose and eyes that usually looked on the world with mild