- Byliner Original
Stan opens the large green locker and stows away the clothes he’s been wearing: the shorts, the T-shirts, the jeans, the summer stuff. He won’t be wearing these clothes for a while: by the time he gets back here the hot weather will most likely be over and he’ll be into the fleece pullovers. He won’t have to do so much lawn maintenance then, which is a plus. Though the lawn will be a wreck. Some guys have no feeling for lawns, they take them for granted, they let them mat up and dry out and then the yellow ants get into them and it takes a lot of work to bring them back. If he were here all the time he could keep the lawn in peak condition. As it is, he’s constantly in repair mode.
His clothes are all washed and neatly folded: wife, Charmaine, did the laundry last thing, before she set off on her scooter for the women’s wing at Positron. In recent months he’s been leaving the house after she does, so he’s been the one doing the final check: no bathtub ring, no orphaned sock, no ends of soap or wispy gatherings of shed hair on the floor. When they return on the first day of every second month, Stan and Charmaine find the house pristine, spotless, hinting of lemon-scented cleaning products and without a trace of recent occupancy—and they like to leave it that way.
Though it hasn’t been spotless every time. Three months ago Stan found a folded note: the corner was sticking out from under the refrigerator. It must originally have been attached with the silver fridge magnet in t...