Woman’s Touch


Ole Hank hit on his pint of Thunderbird, surveyed the yard with a cocked eye while the girl waited.

“I ain’t paying extra for them flowers,” was all he said.

She knew they didn’t cost nothing, and besides, she done that after all the other work. It did look nice, and was even funny in its way, though Ole Hank didn’t see the joke.

He grudgingly hauled out his pocketbook and peeled off three soiled bills, held out a grubby hand spattered with liver spots.

She put the money away. “So I come back tomorrow? They’s still plenty to do.”


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