“I know, my car’s a mess.  You don’t have to tell me.” “I’ve seen it look worse,” says S., the man who thrives on order, as he loads the oversized pictures into the back of my cargo space. He follows me to the store in his car. I asked him when he scheduled the weekend with me to bring his tool box and a drill. Somewhere along East Oak Island Drive he disappears from behind me. A few minutes later, he shows up in my parking lot, handing me a cup of coffee. “Where’d you go?”  I ask. “B.’s place?” … Continue reading →