It was summer of 1989, the same year the Berlin Wall fell. My wall wasn't about to come down anytime soon. I was a long-haired, homeless kid scouring the neighborhood looking for odd jobs so I could earn money to buy food.
I spied an open door to a woodshop where an old man stood at a bandsaw. I approached him and asked if he had any work I could do.
"Ask the boss," he said, nodding his head toward a white-haired lady in the back of the woodshop manhandling a radial arm saw. The old lady turned off the saw and walked toward me.
"Do you cut grass?" she asked. "Come back at five."
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