“Heath, glad you’re back. Got a special job for you.”
“Yeah?” As the new man on the job, he was suspicious. Already, they had pulled several practical jokes at his expense.
“They need a delivery of gravel at the club house.”
“It was supposed to be delivered to them, but got sent here by mistake. I need you to drop it off on your way out. We can’t work anymore today. Got a squall line coming through. Supposed to rain all afternoon, and there’s thunderstorm warnings.”
“Okay. Where?” He got off his mule, grabbing his stuff to stow in his truck.
“It’s on a palette over there. Can’t miss it. It’s pink.”
“Pink gravel? What the hell for?”
“Search me. You good, though?”
“Yeah, if they are. I’m filthy, and I smell like ass.”
“Nope, dude, you smell like wet balls, sweaty socks—and ass,” his buddy Gerry said, grinning.
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