Merle called to say he'd be late anyways, so taking $5 and "30 minutes" to fill the last tries of a one ton truck's battle with the sloppy ground would not bump off Aunt Jill and Uncle Jerry's job more than I would wasted if I stopped for two double cheeseburgers or had to buy more bags of mulch if seven bags still covered short.
I never saw his cigarette and he didn't smoke between his offer and response but you smell smoke, you know. He would tip a few bucks the way of someone who would clean up his mess. Man said two holes. Said the truck had come loose and was out when I said the garage had no truck to pull a truck like that. So what's a few bucks? What's the cost to you? "I'm with maintenance, but I'm volunteering today," I responded to his search for someone working there or, closer, who kept the cemetery grounds. He offered money, I accepted, he swiped his wallet and opened it saying, "I have six dollars. Maybe the older guy has more." "Two holes? About 30 minutes, huh?" "Less than that." "Five dollars then."
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