She can be found every afternoon in a white plastic chair on her cement patio. Pigeons line up on the roof of the building next door, waiting for her to throw corn. All of Riverview's other founders have passed away now. These days, the aging tenants seem to spend more time relaying sad news about sick neighbors than planning the barbecues they all used to enjoy so much. It could be five years, probably 10, maybe even more.
Nobody really knows when.
But one day, Riverview will be gone. McCauley doesn't like to talk about it. It was never pretty here. And time has not been kind. The maple trees were torn up years ago because the roots were strangling the sewer lines.