“Uh, excuse me. Sir?”
I sprayed the garden hose at the car, and soapy water sluiced onto the concrete.
I’m wary of anyone walking up my driveway on a Saturday afternoon, calling me “Sir.”
A laminated ID the size of a playing card was clipped to his shirt pocket. “I’m working for the campaign to elect …” and he named a political candidate who was becoming well known. “Could I have a few minutes of your time?”
It was a searingly hot day, even in shorts and a T-shirt and standing in a puddle of carwash water.
He tugged at the front of his shirt, which had gotten plastered to his chest.
“Tell you what,” I said, gesturing at two lawn chairs sitting in the shade of a maple tree. “I was just going to take a break. Would you…