Right up there this side the Five Chimneys Corners about a mile south the Oneida line, this goddamn granddaddy sugar maple block I tell you it's what you might call a real out-size block a old-time ball-busting son of a bitch of a block laying by the side the road where that house with the busted porch is the worn-out gray asphalt siding? the lawn sale going April to November? you know where I mean, this block if it was a redwood you could cut a hole in it for the tourists to drive through, a good 12 foot high just laying there by its stump, maybe about 20 foot long. Well these guys are standing around they got their chain saws, their malls, their axes, wedges, cant hooks, six-packs, a couple dogs, four five kids, two pickups and a old Cat tractor covered with rust, these guys got pretty damn near anything a man could need, four of them, wearing these greasy John Deere and Agway caps and old plaid shirts half the buttons torn off. Day before yesterday is when I seen them about 7 A.M. I'm heading over the city to that parking-lot job, yes ma'am is what I say all day just put it over there and no sir you can't park that thing here withouten you got a sticker--a hell of a way to make a living, ain't it? So next day, that's yesterday, I'm going by again and these guys are right there standing around smoking talking looking at that goddamn block same as before only I seen now they got maybe a cord of stove wood busted off of it, and then this morning damned if there ain't a woodpile near as big as a Grey- hound bus when I go by must be a good twenty cord and these guys still standing around looking at what's left of that block a big old bastard of a knotty chunk laying there on the ground sort of reminds me of a big heart a hell of a big heart like a bull's heart or a elephant's only of course a different color. Chips and bark everywhere sawdust the yard's all littered snow and ice mud and beer cans why shit you know how it looks you been working up firewood the same place three four days in a row. So this evening what the hell I stop off at The Point myself for a couple what you might call compensating Friday-afternoon beers on the way home so of course it's near dark when I get to Five Chimneys. The block is gone. The woodpile is humungus. Like it's a new hill growing right there on the landscape and this lady wearing baggy pants a red sweatshirt setting on what's left of the porch steps smoking a Winston I seen the red pack right there on the step beside her and the guys are squatting on their gas cans leaning against the pickups they got a case of Coors they're looking at each other with their caps tipped onto the back of their heads like they think they done a hell of a good day's work setting around and talking and taking a swipe at that goddamn block every once in a while. And you know what, I reckon they have. Ain't that the life? How you figure those guys get so lucky?
Added: 1 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 24 Apr 2017 8:55 PM | Viewed: 4639 times
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