His face was wind splattered, sun swept. His skin was a color that mixed soft, sand tan and sun burn lines. He blended with the water, stepped with the waves and looked like he had never left the ocean. I watched him, set my eyes and stared, as he worked. Underneath the red metal structure he worked away, away from the others, completely separate in the way moved. He reached, felt for the bricks, spread the mortar like butter and tapped it down. He set the new row staggered and scrapped away all the dripping mortar. He used his hands slow; they were a mass of buzzing, steady energy. His whole frame was quiet energy. I was still stalled on the sidewalk, still watching him move like a song. He pressed a level against the new wall and held it still. Then, He dropped it, took four casual steps toward me. Maybe he wasn’t coming toward me; maybe he was just coming toward the bunch of small bricks I was standing near. He stooped and scooped up two.
“Hi†His eyes were a web of blue and green. His voice was open. “I like your shirt.â€Â
My shirt was thrift shop slick; it said KILL YOUR TV in wide blue letters.
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