You didn’t know I was checking you out so.
My phone-your phone
God you should have seen me holding on-to your voice in the lumber yard, the storage units, ram shackled in insulations.
Bruce Williams’s red and white truck.
Sometimes installing windows, or hauling trash sometimes holding or chopping lumber. Sometimes sanding like that one time I did with you before I knew you when we drove down that long drive way.
There were rich people and sheets of plywood that flew through the air and snow that fell upon the ground.
How did I meet you? Driving out and my car was idling so, I could take my foot off the gas and it would still move forward… do you remember that?
Me and you sanding those beams in the sun before we ever thought about building a house of our own.
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