The washer whistles unnaturally, straining from spin. I offer it nothing, hoping it will self-soothe. It shifts into rinse, and the house exhales.

Men in their youth

The man working on the door tells stories, mostly short, with a long and slow delivery. The man here before him, electrician, was cut from the same cloth. That is how they would describe themselves, anyway. I would describe them as men I would have liked to see in their youth, so that I could see where they came from, see more of who they have grown into.