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Slack.com slash DHQ. I was out gardening and pulling weeds when the van rumbled into my

driveway at half past 12. It was a shotty-looking thing, clinking and clanking along after the

keys were pulled. On one side, a large scuffed and peeling label. Pool junkie. A decrepit

pair-looking man slinked out of the vehicle. He looked 65, 70, and downright sickly. Under

his scraggly, wily gray hair and above his gaunt, bony cheekbones lay two sunken eyes. Not

the concave, neatly pupil eyes and sockets that came from very old age. Or long lost love

for work. They came from trauma.

Guessing you're the pool guy? I asked. Probably an index finger to the label of his van. He

shuffled towards me and his overalls. Yeah, yeah, I'll head on to your back yard. Hold on,

man. I smiled. You want coffee? Tea? I appreciate it, but I should really get started. His voice

was as rustic as his vehicle. I turned and gestured him an open hand and watched him go through

my house to the back. I thought about the man for a while. It was a little strange, sure,

but maybe he was the time we were living in. You know, nobody was about chit chat anymore.

Inside, I cut vegetables. I watched him work through the window. I like it see over the edge of

the pool with his balding head bobbed up and down, glistening, sweating in the midday sun.

I fished my meals quite quickly since the accident happened. No more wife to vent about work with.

I'm a daughter to ask about soccer practice. Does that to someone?

...