[
Note: this is an entry in an "
exactly 750-words
" writing exercise.
]
Mr. Holloway is a big man—tall, heavy, but muscular. Mr. Simpson told me he was in construction—that he owned a construction company but was very hands on with his work. His hands do look big. He's standing at a window, watching me mow his yard. He's got a big yard. He's got a big house. And he's got a big beer belly, but he's also barrel-chested, heavily muscled. It's one of those windows that's also a full-length door, with three sections of glass that can be raised up and serve as a door.
He's watching me mow his yard. He's wearing just droopy athletic shorts, holding a beer can in one hand and scratching his belly with the other.
I know what he wants. He wants what Mr. Simpson got—what Mr. Simpson told him I'd give. But still I'm here, mowing his yard. I want to earn enough this summer to buy a motorbike before college in the fall. Just mowing lawns won't get me there. And once you've done it, it's easier to do it again.