Thirty-Eight
Clarence stood on tiptoes on the front stoop of the old town hall, peering through the little glass window in the door. He drummed his fingers against a door panel. Paint peeled from the wood, its crunchy texture under his fingers. He brushed some paint chips from his shirt and leaned in again to peer through the window.
No furniture or seating—all he could see was trash.
A hand clasped his shoulder. He flinched.
"I was afraid you'd jump if I spoke. You did anyway."
"Uh, yeah. You startled me." He snapped his fingers. "You're the guy from the library meeting ... Michael?" Clarence reached out his hand.
Michael shook Clarence's hand firmly and held his elbow at the same time. Guy hug.
"So, did your dad build this too?" Michael surveyed the structure.
Clarence tapped the
