Krishna shook briefly, then snatched his hand back and rubbed at his stubble. "I know. You're pretty fucking loud with a table saw." Alan looked sheepish. "Sorry about that. I wanted to get the heavy work done before it got too hot. Hope I'm not disturbing you too much -- today's the only sawing day. I'll be hammering for the next day or two, then it's all wet work -- the loudest tool I'll be using is sandpaper. Won't take more than four days, tops, anyway, and we'll be in good shape." Krishna gave him a long, considering look. "What are you, anyway?" "I'm a writer -- for now. Used to have a few shops." Krishna blew a plume of smoke off into the distance. "That's not what I mean. What *are* you, Adam? Alan? Andrew? I've met people like you before. There's something not right about you." Alan didn't know what to say to that. This was bound to come up someday. "Where are you from?" "Up north. Near Kapuskasing," he said. "A little town." "I don't believe you," Krishna said. "Are you an alien? A fairy? What?" Alan shook his head. "Just about what I seem, I'm afraid. Just a guy." "Just about, huh?" he said. "Just about." "There's a lot of wiggle room in *just about*, Arthur. It's a free country, but just the same, I don't think I like you very much. Far as I'm concerned, you could get lost and never come back." "Sorry you feel that way, Krishna. I hope I'll grow on you as time goes by." "I hope that you won't have the chance to," Krishna said, flicking the dog end of his cigarette toward the sidewalk. # Alan didn't like or understand Krishna, but that was okay. He understood the others just fine, more or less. Natalie had taken to helping him out after her classes, mudding and taping the drywall, then sanding it down, priming, and painting it. Her brother Link came home from work sweaty and grimy with road dust, but he always grabbed a beer for Natalie and Alan after his shower, and they'd sit on the porch and kibbitz. Mimi was less hospitable. She sulked in her room while Alan worked on the soundwall, coming downstairs only to fetch her breakfast and coldly ignoring him then, despite his cheerful greetings. Alan had to force himself not to stare after her as she walked into the kitchen, carrying yesterday's dishes down from her room; then out again, with a sandwich on a fresh plate. Her curly hair bounced as she stomped back and forth, her soft, round buttocks flexing under her long-johns. On the night that Alan and Natalie put the first coat of paint on the wall, Mimi came down in a little baby-doll dress, thigh-high striped tights, and chunky shoes, her face painted with swaths of glitter. "You look wonderful, baby," Natalie told her as she emerged onto the porch. "Going out?" "Going to the club," she said. "DJ None Of Your Fucking Business is spinning and Krishna's going to get me in for free." "Dance music," Link said disgustedly. Then, to Alan, "You know this stuff? It's not playing music, it's playing *records*. Snore."