Arthur dropped his eyes to his polished leather shoes.

“If you back his motion, you’ll be part of the official township record when this goes to court,” I said.

Arthur drew his hand back from the crushed coffee cup and pushed his glasses up again.

“You’ve got a decision to make before the Labor Day block party,” I said.

By six forty-five the summer sun was hanging low over the western tree line behind my garage.

Emily pulled her ponytail over her right shoulder while she held a split cedar stake straight up in the dirt.