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Old Brews: A Short Story

Decent Essays
C'mon kid—high time you began gaining your keep around here." I was twelve. The old man drove me out to the carport and put a three pound espresso can on the seat before me; brimming with years of old screws, stray pieces, needed to measure ten pounds. It was one of the old style jars you opened by twisting off a portion of tin around the top with a key that must be split far from the base. It resembled winding a clock to open one of those jars. The top edge of the opened can was blade sharp. "Sort the nuts, fasteners and screws by size and place them in these infant sustenance jugs." He backpedaled into the house. I discharged the can onto the seat and sorted all screws then all nuts then all fasteners. At that point I backpedaled
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