Rick stood on his driveway watching his neighbor, Fled, slide a leaf blower onto his back, knapsack style. Fled waved at Rick.

Rick said, "what are you doing?"

Fled said, "blowing."

"There are no leaves on the grass," Rick said.

"I know," Fled said.

It was 9:30 p.m. on Wednesday. Rick was out to pick up the pile of newspapers on his driveway. Another neighbor had called him, telling him about the papers accumulating there. In case he didn't know, the neighbor had said.

Fled turned on the blower. It was loud, like an accelerating mid-sized Cessna. Fled paced his lawn, lush Bermuda grass, and waved the blower about. He waved at Rick, gave him the thumbs up sign. A stone lying on Fled's lawn shot across the grass, missile-like, and smacked into a car parked across the street.

Rick could see the sharp triangular dent on the driver side door, under the street light. Fled ignored it. He appeared to be whistling.

Rick turned around, walked back to his house. Before going inside, he noticed Fled skipping, and pointing his blower at the branches of a large tree in his front yard. The branches and the upper trunk swayed, then shook. A few neighbors opened the doors of their houses, and walked onto their walks. One was wearing slippers, another a bathrobe. A few pointed toward Fled. One picked up a rake and started sweeping his porch.

Rick look at the sky. It was cobalt and the stars were shaped a little like the dent on the car, Rick thought. He walked inside his house, and turned off his outside light....read more Rick and Fled