The van lurched and went silent just after rumbling across the metal surface of a bridge connecting my island home to the big city, and I cursed myself. “Fool! Why didn’t you fix the fuel gauge?” Out of gas, the van coasted to a stop in the middle of a one-lane road lined with homeless camps, impoverished people holding signs begging for help, and migrant laborers seeking work. Drivers honked and cursed me even more than I did. A knot of migrant dudes in blue jeans watched from the sidewalk as I ran to the van’s rear and began pushing. …