YARD WORK
And at some point, I became my grandfather. Stumbling across the better part of a slightly wild and rural acre in the twilight, coming in from hacking up fallen branches after a storm, my brown canvas trousers sagging over my shoes, grassy mud stains caked around my ankles, red-faced, sweating like a pig turning on a spit, parched, and mixing CrystalLite (Koolaid for Grownups) in a big plastic glass filled with ice, and capable of holding half of a two-liter pop bottle, but I’m trying to be healthy. It tastes like chemicals and well water and the cup smells funny.
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