>Be Evan

>Apply for job at Kensington Metropark, turn in application to park office.

>Don't hear anything for weeks.

>Then, in early May, receive a phone call from a man with a brusque voice who asks if he can come in for an interview at 8 AM the following day.

>Evan moseys up to the park office the next morning. It's a rectangular, brick building at the top of a hill on the park's north end.

>Secretary directs him to a seat in a small lunchroom.

>At 8 sharp, a huge tattooed biker fellow with chest length beard comes in and sits down.

>Howdy, he says. Rex Reedy.

>He extends a huge hand. Evan offers his.

>Evan Barker.

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>They shake.

>Rex looks at Evan's one-page resume.

>Haven't done much yet, have you?

>Yeah, says Evan. I only just got a car a little while ago.

>You ever cleaned before?

>Uh, no.

>You gotta problem cleaning up people's crap? Cause that's gonna happen. We see some heinous shit around here. And I mean that literally.

>No, I think I can handle it.

>Rex nods, looks over his resume a few more times.

>Hours are 6 to 2. Can you start Monday?

>Yeah, sure, great, says Evan. He's relieved—he'll finally have his own income.

>Great, see you then. Now get out of here and enjoy your last few days of freedom.

>They shake again.

>Rex gets up and is about to leave but then he stops.

>How old are you?

>20. I'll be 21 on the 17th.

>My daughter's two years younger than you. You got a girlfriend?

>No, says Evan. Why?

>She's single, says Rex. You seem like a smart enough kid. Maybe you could talk some sense into her. I haven't felt close to her since she went on the rag.

>I guess, says Evan. He wonders what Hannah looks like.

>You gotta do me one favor, though, Evan, if you start working here.

>What's that?

>You gotta not talk so much. Jesus, man, I mean, you're fucking killing me here with all the talking you're doing.

>Evan gives a nervous laugh. He decides he likes Rex.

>I'll try to, you know, talk more.

>Rex shakes Evan's hand again.

> See you Monday. 6 AM.