Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

The sedan door swung open with a heavy metallic click, and Harold stepped out into the dust. He was wearing his gray work trousers and a short-sleeved white shirt with two pocket protectors full of blue ballpoint pens.

“Morning, Mabel,” Harold said, carrying his black leather clipboard against his ribs like a shield. “You’ve got some fine-looking clover continue reading …