THE TRUTH WAS, I HADN’T noticed how much attention my little digging project had garnered until I backed the rumbling, sputtering ‘Vette up and out of the garage—and found half the neighborhood looking on. I shouldn’t have been surprised; there were piles of dirt and stone everywhere—some of which had spilled onto the Merton’s lawn (and the Diller’s, too) and made tempting obstacles for boys on BMX bikes, not to mention that the conveyor running at 3 am would have undoubtedly stirred Miss Harper, who had once called 911 because a dog was barking. It’s hard to credit, in retrospect, how I’d avoided a visit from the cops. Maybe they had something to do with it. The bugs. Who knows.
Regardless, the kids waved and hollered as I backed onto the street and put it into gear, and I gave them a re
