“Carl?” I called approaching his trailer. “You around?”
He wasn’t sitting in his usual lawn chair, which looked even more forlorn without leathery legs filling it. I went up to the steel door and knocked.
“Vat is it?”
“Oh, just Joy. I thought…”
“Vait un moment.”
Maybe this wasn’t a good time. Today, his friendly-as-a-Kindergarten sing-along voice was clipped and angry. He sounded more like the s*x Pistols’ Sid Vicious than a German Mr. Rogers. I hung my head and started to turn away when the door flung open.
“Ahh, Joy. For you I visit.”
“You sure?” I asked, not wanting to be a bother.
“Of corze.” He waved a hand, inviting me to sit on a lawn chair.
I hesitated. His gray-blue eyes weren’t sparkling, and no smirk lifted the corner of his mouth.
“Sit!” he insisted.
Nodding quickly,
