— erol tilki sam's house, bighorn hills.
It was a nice enough Sunday to justify throwing on a flannel and work on tearing out the worn boards on the wrap-around porch attached to his ever aging farmhouse, thankful that not only was the sun shining at a warm sixty-four degrees and the boards were popping out easily so far, but that he had the company of someone who had grown to be a close friend of his. A few beers and some company, he couldn't imagine a better way to spend the day. He shoed the large orange cat he'd found in his flower field a few years prior away from the spot where she'd chosen to sit on the board he was ironically working on prying off of the base of the porch with the back of his hammer. "How long do you reckon this'll take us? A week? Two? Your professional opinion." Samar questioned, dropping his efforts for just a second as he stood up and squinted at the rest of the porch, hammer still gripped in his hand as he reached for the beer bottle on the banister with the other. "Might have been easier knocking it down and starting from scratch."
@eroltilki