Chris’s nickname is Goose; it has been for years. From now on the blog will refer to him as Goose thereby eliminating any need to differentiate between the two Chris’s.

Goose comes by once a week to help me work on my yard – trim bushes, that sort of thing. Someday soon he’ll help me replace rotten deck boards, maybe even re-roof the garage.

Monday after we’d finished scalping the bush that separates our yard from our new neighbors in the red house, I asked for a ride to Idylwide to buy chicken and corn for dinner. Goose drives an Accura Legend, a low slung sporty car with a sun roof. He never uses the A/C, but instead swaps fresh air for whatever music is blaring on his car stereo. As we were returning – base pounding, wind whipping, old man in passenger seat feeling young again – I pointed to the black Pontiac Firebird in front of us.

“That’s the car you should have. Think of the comments you’d get.”

“I get enough comments driving this car.”

“Oh.”

“And it’s fast.” Goose accelerated to prove his point. “I can get to forty in first gear in no time.”

“ You know what. There is a perfect place on Central St. to see how fast your car can go. Start right before the cemetery and end at my house.”

“Wait a minute. You said right before the cemetery?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s always a cop hiding in that cemetery.”

“There is?”