“Alan Strand called the other day.” Every time I’ve seen Alan Strand, he’s wearing denim coveralls, a worn-through cap.<idle musing>
“He was trying to figure out whether to spend the time he’s got left restoring another tractor, buying a new engine for it — or if he should try to track down his daughter. He hasn’t heard from her in ten years. Doesn’t even know where she is.”
Now this seems pretty obvious to me.
“And he decided?”
I shake my head, only a bit stunned. The words dribble out. “He intentionally considered the options, voiced them to you… and then decided the tractor?”
“Yep. He knew how to do the tractor. Little risk. The daughter, she was all risk. And you know….”
I can’t stop shaking my head. None of this makes any sense.
And yet it does.
Sadly, it does...