Boxes lined the walkway. Taped. Labeled. Stacked in careful, even rows.

And then there was the man himself—seated in a wheelchair at the base of the building’s ramp, one hand braced on the wheel, the other holding a box that was just slightly too large for his lap.

From across the walkway, a neighbor’s window slid shut. A dog barked somewhere. The moving crew had already gone inside with the heavy furniture, leaving him alone with the last of the smaller things.