I stopped mucking out the stall when I heard the sound of the truck tires spitting up gravel when they made the sharp left hand turn by the old spring house and came to a lurching stop in front of the barn. I watched from just inside the barn door as this kid about my age got out of the passenger’s side of Mr. Grant’s truck and I guessed he must be who Mr. Grant was bringing to help me with the work around the farm.
He looked kinda raggedy with a red and gray plaid flannel shirt that was faded from one too many washings, which he wore pulled out over top a pair of dirty blue jeans whose cuffs hung over an even dirtier pair of scuffed up brown boots. He saw me watching him and didn’t say a word as he shook his scruffy crop of brown hair to the side so it wasn’t covering his blue eyes, which were blank like they had nothing to say either. He turned around and reached inside the cab of the truck and took out his designer luggage. Two brown paper sacks with the letters A&P printed on them. I wasn’t sure if I was gonna like him or not as I made sure my blue oxford cloth shirt was tucked neatly inside the waistband of my khakis and my freshly polished paddock boots were not too dirty from the work I had been doing.