Fled and Rita, Fled's wife, stood on the front stoop when Rick opened his door. Rita was wearing a sky blue running suit. Rick was in a white T-shirt. Fled was carrying a spading fork; he leaned it against a wall. The spade tipped over, landed on a row of empty glass Pepsi bottles, shattering them.

"Hi, Rick," Rita said. "We were wondering about the front lawn."

"Wondering?" Rick said. Fled rolled his eyes, offered his open palms in outstretched innocence.

"Some of the neighbors are concerned. And since we're you're friends . . . ."

"About what?" Rick said.

"You've got more dandelions than blades of grass, Rick," Rita said.

"I don't see that," Rick said, though he did see a lot of yellow, actually.

"And what about all those sticks and branches. And the grass you can see, do you need a mower?"

"Who's concerned?" Rick said. "You?"

Fled shook his head, no. Rita said, "well, to be honest, Fled and I think it could look better. But others are really upset."

Rick nodded.

"Phil and David across the street, for example."

"Phil and David are . . . architects," Fled said.

Rita looked around Fled inside the doorway. "What's in your living room, Rick?"

Rick moved in front of her. "Furniture," Rick said.

"It looks like lawn chairs," Rita said.

Rick nodded, scanned his lawn. It was mid-fall, and it occurred to him, shouldn't the dandelions be dead by now? He thought, maybe they're not actually dandelions, maybe they're a new breed of yellow flower. He kicked a large chunk of fallen tree bark that had wedged between the doorstep and the stoop. It hit Fled in the shin. Fled winced.

"Where's Jenna?" Rita said.

"On a business trip."

"She was on a business trip last week," Rita said.

"Yea," Rick said. "It's a long trip."  ...read more Rick and Fled