The phone sounded. I picked up. It was Carl yet again. Carl calls me throughout the week, every week. I hope someone takes Carl's phone away. He says "Welcome." He says that then silence. Carl does this a lot.

We-Carl, I, others-live in a small, quaint row of homes. We all know one another and Carl holds that this communion, this accidental proximity is consent to take control of communication like Carl is the friendliest Genghis Khan ever.

Quickly I asking why he had called. Carl asks me to come over to his house so he could show me something. Subterfuge bounces off Carl like a trampoline. I went to his house

Carl's yard is about as unrestrained as the man himself. For example: his yard always displays season-appropriate decorations. It's spring now and so what does he have in his yard? A large, inflatable groundhog. Gaudy, swaying, it welcomes me as I head towards his front door. Carl pops out his door before I am able to knock. Grasping the crux of my elbow he takes me past his porch awning. Carl looks up. I look up. My mind is the saddest canvas and Carl is the crazed painter. This should be interesting.

I find out he asked me over so he could tell me about his gutter covers, which he says keeps debris out of his gutters. And Carl, finally, was actually onto something.

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