Came home from the eye doctor's to find a battered blue pick-up truck with "Wholesale Steak to the Public" fading into the doors. One young man was on the phone in the passenger's seat; the other was on our deck, having just closed the screen door. He came down stairs, and backed the truck out, waiting 'til Steve parked and got out, then cockily offered him steak. Steve declined. They offered chicken; he declined that, too. They then went up the drive to our neighbor's house, apparently tried the door their, and zipped down the road.
I would have been happier about this if we'd found a flier in the door, but -- no.
In health news, the verdict from the eye doctor is
posterior vitreous detachment. Apparently the fifty-five year extended warranty expired.
My eyes are still dilated, and computer screens are bright. Maybe I'll call the town cop shop with a description of the truck, and, I dunno, start the laundry or something.