The library did have air conditioning, but unfortunately it wasn’t working.
“Oh, John,” Miss Aldridge, the elderly librarian twittered when he entered. “It’s you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brock said, taking off his old black Stetson. He hadn’t been able to find his Resistol when leaving the house.
Fanning herself with a magazine, she said, “Our air has stopped working. Do you think you could take a look at it?”
“Well, I’m not sure.” Brock looked up at the wall vent, thinking of possible law suits if he did something wrong. He had fixed window AC units, but he didn’t know squat about central air.
Miss Aldridge had been his English teacher in high school and now, Brock assumed, to try and keep active, volunteered at the library. Looking at her lined and wrinkled face Brock mused that she must
