Men with calloused hands

You may think this extreme processing on my part, but then again, I’m an extreme thinker.

This is a test regarding the honesty of our next-door neighbor. He had agreed to pay a $320 check but then tried to squeeze men with calloused hands.

The neighbor wanted to fill a hole in his backyard. It had nothing to do with a recent fence repair, for which the workers had already given a quote with no mention of a hole.

If I may be so bold… I predict the neighbor will avoid giving a check, or will otherwise try to to devoid his offer.

I’m curious, are my feelings correct? I’m bringing it up to test the department of honesty.

There was a famous Mexican bandit who would always ask to see your hands. If you had calluses on your hands, he would never take your money.

In my mind, the neighbor was trying to take money from men with calloused hands.

Today, I gave the workers cash to buy themselves lunch because they had calloused hands.

(A writer once told me, Peter, you have the heart of a priest with the mind of a gangster.)

It ended up being the neighbor’s loss, through the poverty of his soul.

Over the past 25 years I’ve noticed that everyone who’s lived in that house, has had a social disconnect from our little cluster of homes. Like miniature worlds within worlds. Like bacteria within a petri dish… microorganisms having different personalities from the North and South within the dish itself.

Like zeno’s theorem. Any moving object must reach halfway on a course before it reaches the end; the sum of an infinite number of terms must itself be infinite…

Infinity… the door is never fully closed because you’ll always have half the distance.

After 500 years of argument, someone said fuck it! The door’s closed!