The old Monte Carlo with the primer-colored door and the lawn mower protruding from the open trunk, the decklid secured with a hooked bungee cord, gave me a story. The unemployed protagonist is a slacker by most accounts, though some see life otherwise. The subtle difference between laziness and his inability to see the benefit of and, therefore, engage with any particular occupation is lost on most people, but a recognition of this distinction will ease the confusion of the reader in certain situations when our protagonist, Roy, is willing to sweat and toil tirelessly in awful work. Should the story progress, keep this in mind.
The activity of lawn mowing in Texas varies greatly, as it surely must elsewhere. There are better and worse sets of equipment and better and worse times of day. Mowing in the early morning or late evening, though bothersome for the neighbors, can be pleasant if you're working with the right sorts of lawn and have proper equipment. Roy, however, has an old mower that only starts with argument and, ultimately, physical violence. I say that he has it only because it is, at this point, protruding from the trunk of his car. In truth, the mower (like the car) belongs to his mother. Adding to his difficulty is the fact the Roy is too asleep in the early morning and too buzzed in the late evening to mow, so he must mow in the afternoon. Mowing in the afternoon is hell, especially if, like Roy, you lack the appearance of respectability required to get access to the better lawns. Instead Roy will mow yellow lawns with bare patches of dry dirt and baked blades of Johnson grass. Roy will mow the sorts of lawns that do not expect to be edged or trimmed, just cut. Roy will mow the kinds of lawns that throw dry, brittle clippings and dust into the air. He will end the job with a thin layer of mud from sweat, dirt and itchy, vegetable dust over his body and grit in his teeth. He will have bruises on his shin from flung rocks, sticks or matchbox cars that were hidden in the overgrowth. He will, however, have enough cash to eat and, more importantly, drink for one more day.
My fear is that, having presented Roy in this way, I will have caused some of you to dislike him. Take my word for it, Roy is a good guy. You can't judge a guy like Roy like you would judge other sorts of people, by appearance or utility. Like an oyster, Roy's real value is a pearl hidden in his slimy depths. Bear with Roy. He will deserve it, eventually.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
P. S. - Sorry about my absence last week. I was in Chicago at the College of American Pathologists learning about SNOMED. (If you don't know what that is you probably don't need to know and don't want to know.) It was fascinating and sufficiently complicated to warrant my fleeting fascination. I'm back now. I hope you're all well. Thanks for stopping by.
