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What’re you doing home, Fred, wife said.

Sick of job.

How’ll we live.

Fred didn’t answer. He grabbed shovel in garage, put on work gloves, walked into back yard, and started digging. He dug fast, heaving dirt far as possible, and hole got wide and deep by sundown.

What in God’s name, said wife.

Fred didn’t reply. He called friend on cell and asked to bring conveyor belt and attachable buckets in morning.

Aren’t you hungry, Fred.


She lowered ice chest full of food and drink

Early in morning energized Fred resumed digging. By afternoon hole was surrounded by mound high as house. Neighbors didn’t call police till second afternoon when spectators gathered on mound and gazed into second-floor bedrooms.

Police said, Fred, come on out of there.

He didn’t answer.

Police summoned firefighters, two of whom descended ladder into hole.

How’s it going down there, boys, the captain hollered.

They didn’t answer. They used hands to help Fred dig.

Turn off damn conveyer belt, captain ordered.

Two more firefighters descended, and five men widened base all way around, piling dirt in middle. Next morning two policemen went down. They must’ve helped dig, too. Those guys had to have gone somewhere.

This entry was posted in Housing, Marriage, Short Pieces - GTC.