He was out there one Saturday afternoon, the sun was beating down, the insects were going from bad to worse, he was light-headed, and every minute or two he had to kill the engine to wipe the sweat off his spectacles—compounding annoyances that might have led him to conclude that he was living a chump’s life. But then came the revelation: he didn’t mind. There would be a cigarette to reward him when he was done, and a cold glass of sun tea, and cornbread with dinner. He had a wife he admired, and a bathtub without water bugs, a newborn he might still do right by, and another on its way.
