Two bundles of shingles dropped off the forklift and hit the gravel with a flat crack.

The yard smelled of tar and hot rubber.

Six roofers were working a flatbed, stacking bundles in a pattern they could do blindfolded.

Pete came around the back of the truck with a clipboard under his arm.

He looked at my boots, then at the office door, then back down at his clipboard.

“Ray’s inside,” he said.

“Want me to get him?”

“I’ll get him myself.”