At some houses, Cohen and Munoz murmured to each other like partners in an interior design firm, discussing how they might move a wall here, put in a fountain there.
At their second-to-last stop, the former owners had carved a heart into the concrete outside the front door. In the heart, they had engraved their names: Nicole and Omar. The deputies stepped over the heart without commenting -- they have learned to steel themselves against the emotions that their job can evoke.
Inside, the house had been completely stripped. Every last item of value -- all the fixtures, the water heater, the counters and even the furnace -- was gone.
Back in the car, Cohen sighed.
Even on a day when he doesn't have to put any children on the street, he said, carrying out evictions makes him think about how insecure life can be.
"Can I imagine being in this situation?" he said. "I often think about what it would be like."
But there was no time to waste. The deputies got in the car and moved on to the last house.
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jessica.garrison@latimes.com
