Reckoner In Rainbows

Some poor boy--well, perhaps a man child is a better description--with a deep country accent operating a shovel outside the parking lot where they are laying a new water line called over to me just now, as I was returning from lunch. As you can imagine, I'm used to the catcalls of the lower brain functioning men, so I was prepared to ignore him altogether, but it turned out he just wanted to show off his new toy that he was so proud of. Oh, I'm certain there was an underlying sexual drive that, much like every other drive he possesses, came from no conscious thought, but he truly was childlike in his delight. His vernacular was, not charming, but not ashamed. I think he 'reckon'd' everything he said.

Apparently, some company that sells machinery to the company he works for had come out and grilled pork and potatoes for the laborers and as a souvenir had handed out little folding pocket knives complete with nylon sheaths. They had used plastic forks, and these knives to eat their bountiful feast.

It was just a wonder, working in an office environment where there is a clear and stated zero tolerance for weapons of any kind in the workplace to behold a world, not so far from mine, by which I mean in physical distance, because to be honest we might as well live in different universes, where weapons were encouragingly handed out to everyone and so openly brandished and reveled in.

I saw the dirt on his pants, the grime permanent in his sweatshirt, and I swallowed my distaste and offered him a smile, a true highlight to him; undoubtedly the brightest color in the rainbow of today after the soggy, grim never ending drizzle that is his life.