Romancing the Wind
Or, Love and a Thermos of Coffee
A longer letter today. But a true story.
When I lived in Wyoming, I didn’t have any money, so I struck up a deal with my landlord of my apartment complex. I’d seen the old guy out in front of the building every morning during the first weeks of winter, bent over, braving the early morning cold to clear away the night’s snow from the sidewalks and steps of the apartment complex.
One clear, cold day, after a thin dusting of flakes, I told him I’d take over the job if he’d knock something off the rent. He looked at me like he didn’t understand the language. Again, I asked for the responsibility. He asked where I was from.
“Nebraska,” I said.
“Oh, then you understand winter,” he clapped me on the back. “You had me worried there for a minute.” He handed over his broom. “Didn’t think you knew what you was in for.”