I clear my throat and take off my gardening gloves. “He’s a garden gnome texting on a fake toilet.” I don’t even have to look to know what he’s pointing at. “And what about that?” Racer points to my right. Moore.” I also liked the colors and thought it would match perfectly with the color of my flowers, but no need to divulge that. “It has a watering can on it,” he deadpans. Turning my head, I spot what he’s pointing at. “Smalls, you have an old-lady garden.” Smalls, what my friends call me, despite my towering height and broad shoulders. “This is taking forever! Why do you have so much vegetation?” Racer lies on the grass with his arms and legs spread, his eyes closed, and looking massively pathetic. “We’re almost done,” I say, taking in my front yard, appreciating the hard work we’ve put in. The sun has been relentless this afternoon, beating down on our backs, and the humidity has caused me to soak through my shirt, hence it’s on the ground next to me. It’s abnormally warm for October in Upstate New York. I sit back on my heels and wipe my forehead. Racer is a hard-as-hell worker, but has a penchant for getting off track when he’s been working for too many hours without a break. Between his legs, he’s placed his garden shovel at crotch level and is making circles with it. Turning from my bent-over position, I look at one of my best friends, Racer, making an ass of himself in my front yard.
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