HE rummaged through FRIEND’S
toolbox and threaded a rusty hammer through the loop of his ragged jeans. Waving
away the proffered flask, HE grabbed a 2x4 and aligned it with the existing
framework. FRIEND smirked and returned the metal container to his toolbelt as
HE extended he hand for a level. FRIEND obliged but, he was as apt to share his
opinion as his tools: “I really don’t see why you waste your time with that
thing every time—we get paid per house and you’re really holding shit up with
your anal habits.”
Apparently the paradigm hadn’t
shifted too far, because he returned the customary color in his reply: “I can
pretty much guarantee your anal habits hold shit up pretty well too – but it’s
really better for both of us if you keep them to yourself so I can get my work
done.” Satisfied with the placement of the stud, HE hammered in the nails and
step back to the bundle of lumber.
FRIEND spat to the ground and
grabbed a couple boards himself. “You do more work than anyone here – God only
knows why I show up here early with you every day. We’re fucking day laborers, dick!
We’re expected to show up three sheets to the wind five minutes before RICHIE
drops off the truckload of saps.”
HE scoffed and relieved FRIEND of a
board. “You forget that there are certain privileges to rising with the dawn.”
“Yeah, I know—no rooftops. But don’t
think I’ve forgotten your little “incident” last job, you pussy.” With that,
FRIEND headed for the port-a-john and HE was left with thoughts of early
morning privileges.
[morning wood, ha?]
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