Melvin stopped by today. He heard the chainsaw racket I was making.
The noise carries so freely down the valley.
“Whatcha doin’?”
It seemed obvious enough. I was running a chainsaw and standing in front of at least seven cords of cut and uncut logs.
But that’s Melvin.
And he continued: “Cuttin’ firewood?”
Again, obvious enough. But Melvin’s retired. He’s got time.
I try to wait him out. He’ll eventually get to the good parts.
He paced around the pile. He noticed everything but tried to pretend otherwise.
“That’s an 18-inch bar, ain’t it?”
He knew my saw had an 18-inch bar.
“I never cut firewood with nothing but a 24-inch bar,” Melvin offered, as if I had been asking. “That way, you don’t have to bend over.”
I wasn’t rude enough to mention Melvin’s missing fingers or severed Achilles.
But at least he didn’t have to bend over.
All that wood you’re cutting. Are you going to have some kind of symbolic ‘burning’ on 9/11? Might as well burn the Constitution…and that book by Herman Melville…I’ve uncovered some facts that show that that fucking White Whale was actually a symbol of Islam…and that’s why Ahab went batshit…and turned the Pequod into the Twin Towers.
But is is a mild mild wind, and a mild looking sky…
Hey, being Nuts is like …so IN.