The faucet turned with a firm brass click, no drips and no rattling pipes.

At six thirty the air outside was still cool from the night breeze coming down through the pass.

I went down the three white steps of the front porch to the brick path that led to the fence.

Six burlap sacks sat along the edge of the dirt bed where the old grass had died off.

Three days before, I had bought two Mister Lincoln bushes, two Double Delight, and two Peace from the nursery on Shea Boulevard.

I drove the metal spade four inches into the damp ground.