You want it?” I told him the truth, which was that I had never grown anything in my life, that I’d killed a supermarket basil in under a week, that I didn’t know the first thing.

Sal looked at me for a moment with those squinting eyes.

“Nobody does,” he said.

“That’s not a reason.

That’s just Tuesday.” And he handed me a hoe that had clearly been handed to a great many uncertain people before me, its handle worn smooth and pale, and he pointed at the weeds, and he said, “Start there.

Everything you need to know, the ground’ll teach you.

My job’s just to keep you from quitting before it does.” I paid my twenty dollars.