Chapter 18
“Hey, Paul! Hold up a minute!” Mr. Watson, the landlord, called as Pauly started up the stairs to the apartment. The older man leaned his snow shovel against the garage and walked carefully across the trampled snow to where Pauly stood.
“How you doing, Mr. Watson?” Pauly greeted him. “Nice snow last night. Early for a first snow. If this keeps up, we’ll have a white Thanksgiving.”
“Well, it looks pretty, but these old bones of mine sure don’t like to shovel it,” Mr. Watson grumbled.
“Then just leave it. I can do it when I get home,” Pauly offered. “There’s no sense in hurting your back or risking a heart attack.”
“Pssh.” Mr. Watson brushed Pauly’s words away. “No sense in leaving it to freeze. Get the shoveling done while the sun is still out and it makes it that much easie
