can be.
I kept it because when the workers rebuilt the porch, I told them to copy the old footprint exactly, and one of them, a kid named Wes with a tattoo of a fish skeleton on his forearm, asked where I wanted the swing.
“Same bad spot,” I said.
He shrugged and did it.
That first evening after the new boards dried, I sat out there with a sweating glass continue reading …
