“The same four strings?” I ask.
“A few are burnt out, Sal.”
“Yup. Every year, we lose a few.”
“Ever think of replacing them?” I ask, remembering I may have asked in previous years as well.
“Yup. Think about it. Then, wouldn’t ya know, Christmas pops up like stink. They’re hard to replace, Walt. And they still do the trick.”
“What trick would that be, Sal?”
He shakes his head at the obviousness. “They’ll light the sidewalk and porch and, most importantly, never end up in the landfill.”