The sputtering of the engine woke me at 7am precisely. On a Sunday. That “day of rest”? Any other day of the week the neighbor could do this. Yesterday afternoon, when the entire neighborhood was a-buzz with lawnmowers and trimmers, he could have joined right in. He sat on the porch. Drinking beer. Watching sports on his little portable.
As I look out the window, the other neighbors that were expecting to enjoy skipping church and sleeping in late, are running the mower over his body.
Time for another cup of tea.
