As Is, by William C. Blone

I’m just about as sure as sure can be the plumber in dingy green overalls has the goose in the back of his truck. It’s not that I heard it, but I’m certain I saw it when I casually looked out the side window and spotted Mona undressing in the lumberyard. All of us regularly admonish her about going public with what we’re so lucky to see all the time indoors, and she made quite a sight, all that softness and all those curves amidst the slats and boards of different hardwoods, but her disrobing wasn’t enough to keep my eyes from spotting the grey-black goose. The bird was standing (or, actually, kind of waddling-in-place) behind the cab of the vehicle being driven out of here by the plumber in green, the nice plumber, who, earlier in the day, had offered me a Snickers bar in exchange for my handing him a pipe wrench that was a tad out of his reach. But if you’re going to go after the goose—and I absolutely wouldn’t fault you if you did—then you better put pedal-to-the-metal and follow this guy in green who’s driving a Ford pickup. Don’t even give the gaggle of other men in the lumberyard the time of day (they’re always plenty of guys hanging around here), and forget all about Mona and me. Sure, I imagine I’d come to somewhat miss the honker myself if it were gone for good, though probably not as much as you would, but essentially, I can vouch that the rest of us are all okay as is.