"I thought we were going to talk about books," Rick said.

"No." Fled quickly paged through a Home Depot catalog, then picked up a Landscape & Lawn Magazine, and turned to a page designated by a post-it marker. The other guys on the sofas turned to the same page in their copies.

"I think this hedger, the Echo model with the 20-plus CC tork, is excellent," said one of the guys.

"Yea," said another, who was in camouflage-imprinted overalls. Fled had told Rick earlier he was a hedge fund manager. "I think that's a good one to discuss," the guy said.

"Fled, what the f**k is this?" Rick said.

"What?" Fled said, pulling out a lined writing pad and a blue high lighter.

"You said this was a book group," Rick said, getting up and grabbing a beer on the credenza in Fled's livingroom.

"Reading group," Fled said.

"And you're reading tool catalogs?" Rick said.

"No. This is a magazine. It has articles, about tools. We may get to the Scotts Lawn Bulletin later."

Rick looked at Fled.

"What?" Fleck said, sipping from his beer.

Rick walked out of the room, nodded to Rita, who was seated in the den watching a rerun of Grey's Anatomy, and walked toward the front door.

As he opened it, he heard Rita yell, "hey, what the f**k?" He wasn't sure if it was directed to him or Fled or the TV show. He walked outside. It was windy and the lawn was covered in leaves -- his lawn, not Fled's; not anyone's on the block, Rick noticed.

A kid across the street was throwing pebbles onto the roof of Fled's garage. Rick thought he should yell at him, at least tell him to stop. He was Fled's kid. He had a good arm. It's not easy getting distance or pace with pebbles; they don't have enough weight or mass to pierce the air. But the kid was winging them. Jon, he thought his name was; maybe Teddy, Rick couldn't remember. The kid noticed Rick and hesitated. Rick nodded. Then he gave the kid a thumbs up. Jon/Teddy smiled. Rick thought, "what the f**k," and headed to his leaf-decorated house next door. ...read more Rick and Fled