I started to wipe my feet on the front door mat and just about stepped on a tiny package and note.
What the hell? Nobody ever gives me Christmas presents. Nobody. Ever. The Children’s Home had a pick-a-number gift system. Then the trading began. But gifts given directly to me? Never.
After wiping my feet on the mat, I opened the door to my loft apartment. I juggled the bank paperwork and the present with its note. I shucked my shoes by the door, put everything I was carrying on the kitchen table, and got rid of the tie.
I don’t do ties unless something’s really important, like meeting with a loan officer to get money to build an addition to the garage. Mostly I’m a jeans, work boots, and ratty T-shirts kinda guy who makes his money without wearing a suit. I fix and modify bikes, mostly
