Paul Magnanti, first communion ca. 1956 My dad was mowing strangers' lawns on the day that he died. He woke before sunrise - the habit of a blue collar lifetime - with his schedule for the day written out on a piece of college-ruled paper, copied from the app where homeowners booked him for reasonably priced lawn services. He had the rest of the week drawn up as a grid too, with blank spaces for last-minute jobs that might pop up on his newly purchased smartphone.
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