Took the cash and run

You think throwing that word around stings, but an eye for load and line doesn't vanish just because paperwork fell through. The yard was pitch black, so I worked my way along the gravel to the rusted footing of an old tin shed. Down in the weeds, half-buried in grit, lay a discarded builder's pencil—hexagonal cedar, lead snapped blunt. I dragged it out, leveled it across two uneven foundation bolts, and leaned over to sight down the edge. Off by half an inch. Someone slapped this down in a hurry, collected their cash, and left the rot for later. I wedged the pencil firm into the dirt to mark the slope, dusted my knuckles off, and leaned back against the cold siding.