It was half past nine. How had to gotten so late? Where had the evening gone he wondered. Though he’d known exactly where it had gone. Where it always goes. A day of work shoveling out basements. Hours of jackhammering through foot depth concrete. Lifting 20 pound chunks of concrete onto the conveyer belt which carries the concrete chunks out the window and deposits them in the industrial dump bin outside. Once the last of the concrete has been loaded it time to shovel dirt. Sour smelling, fungal dirt, shovelful after shovel with sweat rivers flowing down your brow, torrenting down your back, your arms growing moister and moist, attracting the dirt which is impossible to get off. And you don’t worry about that, about dirtiness, about the sweat and the spiders and sore lower back and left knee that licks every so often, and the charley hirsd that on occasion seizes every last muscle in your right leg, and you gotta somehow find room to stretch it out straight anddeep breath and dine very thing in your power not to scream as you desperately pray for it to go back LI to normal. Then, when the last shovel full of dirt has ridden the the conveyer, the pics, and the Joe’s, and the shovels and the crowbars are neatly pled in the dirt which is 6!inches lower it still needs to be dug another foot; the last smoke of the us struck as you stand hincjed in the middle of the room with the dirt floor,