How d'ya do it? Like, how'd you describe, for example, a
tool?'
He scanned the sky as he spoke. The heavy overcast was lightening, and
the wandering rain-ghosts had retreated to make way for drizzle.
Rivulets snaked across the concrete quad from one puddle to another,
eventually over-brimming into a furrow that widened and deepened into a
trench entering a conduit to a ditch or storm sewer somewhere off the
campus.
'Name a few tools,' I said.
He grinned. 'Pliers. Wrench. Screwdriver. OK?'
'OK,' I answered. 'More.'
His eyes contemplated the drizzle, came back to stare at the wet walls of
the kiosk, settled on his haversack, and stayed. I followed his glance. A
4-inch long, candy-striped, enamel coated safety pin fastened down the
flap of its side pocket.
'Safety pin,' he chuckled. 'Tool, right?'
'Could be. How would you get ready to describe it?'
He stared at me, his face gone blank. 'How 'to get ready' to describe a
safety pin? What's this 'get ready' bit? It's just a safety pin. You're
kiddin'.'
'The heck I am,' I said. 'You just called it a 'tool'.
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