A HAPPY-MAKING grin. Driving down Main Street of this little South Bank river burg where the Patch Factory is located, only to meet a guy coming the other way…
Driving a smallish red pickup truck. A Ford, probably, but I didn’t really notice. He barely fit inside the cab, so it’s a good thing he was alone. He looked to be my age or a bit older — wire-rims, white hair and whispy white beard. Wearing a tan fishing hat and a buttoned shirt.
Arguing with his radio. I mean, he was intent on getting his point across.
I thought I was the only one who did that.