Julian stops beside an empty concrete mixer near the exterior back wall overlooking the lake. “You’re joking.” Of all the things Julian could have suggested, I would have never guessed this. “Do you have a better idea?” “No, but this feels criminal.” He keeps quiet while gathering supplies. His white T-shirt quickly loses its crisp color as construction dust clings to the material. His jeans suffer a similar fate, with the blue color turning gray when he pours the dry mixture inside the machine.
