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Eating breakfast, I watched a large blue truck tilt as five men started pushing blue wheelbarrows and asphalt poured from a chute. They were not locals and the noise of the truck was so loud if they were playing music, I couldn't hear it. I was, however, mesmerized by the methodical parade and their attire.

The leader was lean, tanned, and wore no shirt, obvious tattos which I would later see up close. The other four had worn two t-shirts, removing the top one to tie around their heads, protecting the back of their necks from the hot sun. One guy also wore a backwards baseball cap, dirty camouflage. I found the event comical yet efficient.

Even though I'd finished eating, I continued watching and listening to infrequent shouts, "Paco!" followed by hand signals, a series of whistles; "Bro!" and "Yo!" slight head nods, not much laughing. Reminded me of an ant nest I had disturbed minus the initial frenzy. Clearly, these men had worked together often.

Next thing I know, there's a knock at my front door; it's shirtless leader with big brown eyes and very white teeth explaining they have extra asphalt and would I like my driveway paved. He tells me he'll give me a good deal, no pressure, as I'm looking at his tattoos and sweat glistening, in my nightgown.

Thankfully, my youngest son appeared, becoming part of the scene as we trooped over to have the guy explain what he'd do and the cost. After some negotiations, I agreed. Later, I learned his entire life story. My husband's reaction, after an unsatisfactory visit to pulmonologist, "At least some of our problems are fixed."

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