A construction truck loaded with gravel, piloted by Fred, with Al riding shotgun, growled around two uphill “S” curves that led into suburban Prestwick Hills.
“Remember the first time you tried skipping stones?” Al said out of the blue.
“What brought this on?” Fred, answered his question with a question.
It would be a good day if civilians stayed out of their way. That was the only thing civilians were good for–getting in the way. That and not being very smart.
Civilians were surprised when items were stolen from their unlocked cars.
They planted trees, shrubbery in utility right-of-ways.
They were surprised when unleashed pets disappeared from unfenced backyards.
Old retired people and young kids hung around—asked too many questions.
Highly polished, telescopic, hydraulic cylinders raised the truck’s dump bed. Fred advanced the truck slowly to spread the gravel. A skip loader redistributed the rest. The dump bed lowered with a hiss, and thump.
Fred and Al caught up paperwork under a nearby maple tree, followed by a short break.
Boom!! Chunks of dirt flew, sparks and acrid black smoke ran along a nearby chain link fence. Decorative fence caps launched into the air. The old man gawking from Lot #17, looked a little sheepish.
Locating buried utility lines wasn’t an exact science. The bulldozer operator severed a buried electric feeder cable. Visibly shaken, but unharmed, he stayed with his machine, until the power company arrived on scene.
If any work got done after this, it would be a miracle. Small miracles happened every day.