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the next day, I packed up the salad and the pie and
headed for the bus stop. I had to walk three blocks to
Steve's neighborhood after I got off the bus and it
wasn't the nicest section of the city. Some of the
houses looked downright deserted. The streets were
dirty and there were broken-down cars that looked
like they had been left there for months.
"His house was small with just a patch of grass
in the front. Some of the grass looked yellow and
there were big dead spots. The front porch on the
house leaned to one side like it had collapsed after an
earthquake or the beams holding it up had just rotted:
A front window had a crack in it and most of the
siding was peeled and faded badly. The truth is when I
first came upon it, I thought I might have the wrong
address. I didn't think anyone lived in this one either. "However, Steve must have been watching for
me because the moment I turned into his short,
chipped and broken cement sidewalk, he stepped out
the front door.
"'Welcome to my palace,' he said with a
crooked smile, holding his arms out wide.
"'How long have you lived here?' I asked trying
not to sound too critical.
"'Long as I can remember. It was my grandpa's
house, my father's daddy. When he died, it was practically all he had to leave to him, I guess. Once it was
nice. I know because I've seen some pictures. "'Well, come on inside. No sense in putting it
off,' he added.
"You could tell two men lived there by
themselves the moment you stepped through the door.
The living room furniture needed a good dusting, the
