At one point, he stopped what he was doing, unzipped his charcoal coveralls and pulled them off his shoulders to cool down. He was wearing another one of those hot, tight athletic tanks. Nike brand. Black. But I could tell it was soaked through with sweat. His arms were glistening in the light as he wiped his brow on his grease-covered forearm. He grabbed a bottle of water, took several long drinks, his thick neck contracting with each swallow, and proceeded to pour the remaining contents down his face. You just can’t make this shit up!
