Jimmy: You know that beef ain't right. Got a different texture than any beef you'll ever have.
Greg: S'gotta be cat meat. But man, they cook that shit up good.
Denny: Hey, you gotta pair of tweezers? Have a steel sliver.
Me: I have... a utility knife?
Denny: Is it sharp?
Me: Fresh blade.
Denny: Here. Get it out.
Denny: I trust you. OUCH! You found it all right. Looks like yer gettin' it too.
Me: *rolls eyes* Got it.
Denny: Shit, ya did! I'll buy you a drink. I'll buy you that whiskey you like.
We've almost finished the deck for the big pour tomorrow night. By we, I mean largely the iron workers who killed it laying steel. They dance more than any laborers I've ever seen and randomly shout in deep voices to one another. Other times they sing like in-patients from an asylum under their breath as they pass by. Our guys have done a lot; everything besides the steel.
Mercifully the thunderstorms haven't come and it's been cooler this week.
I've noticed I've thinned out. Rather, my dad noticed and then I did. I weigh the same but have leaner muscle than ever and probably ever will have again.
Another story about Marty the truck driver. He's also one of my favourites.
Marty: You know, I wanna get a tattoo one day. A compass, right here on my forearm.
Me: You only live once, Marty. They're not bad.
Marty: Well, see, I like pain. Sometimes I'm standing in the kitchen and my back starts to hurt from, well, all this (gestures to the truck and stacked trailers he's hauling). And when it's botherin' me, I turn to my wife and I tell her to give me a good crack.
Me: ...with a towel?
Marty: Aw, no bare handed right on the ass. Pain from my back doesn't hurt anymore after that.
Me: Uhhhh, huh.