Plato's Chainsaw Massacre by Barry Rachin (classic books for 13 year olds txt) đź“–
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his eyes toward a larger tool with an orange housing. “The Rigid fourteen-inch has a three-quarter horse power motor plus graphite blade guides for free-hand cuts.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” the black man’s expression softened. His son kept glancing back and forth between his father and the salesman. The man ran a finger over the small, induction motor. “Blade might wander with the grain, if the saw is underpowered.”
Kyle smiled at the boy, who promptly grabbed his father’s hand. “The Ryobi’s a great tool for hobbyists and weekend warriors; the Rigid is a commercial-quality workhorse.”
“What about blades?”
“You’re better off with thin kerf, silicon steel,… quarter-inch blades for general purpose cuts… wider diameters when ripping stock.”
* * * * *
Kyle took early coffee break. He got a cup of coffee and took it out back, even though an intermittent light rain was coating the asphalt with a slick, glossy sheen. He went and stood in the rear of the store near the dumpsters where no one would bother him and he could put his fractured thoughts in order. When he first arrived at the Rasmussen's property and learned that the old man wasn't there, Kyle assumed that the daughter wanted to seduce him. While Miranda was chopping logs and showing him her mother’s flowery memorial, he was undressing her with his eyes, imagining all sorts of lewd and lascivious trysts. But there was no hidden agenda, and he was no better than the ignorant dolts cloistered away in Plato's murky cave. Too caught up in adolescent fantasies, all he got for his trouble was a glass of fresh-made lemonade, tour of the rock garden and smattering of Greek philosophy.
Reaching for his cell phone, he dialed information and requested the number for the Rasmussens at forty-one Evans Drive. “Hi, Miranda?... Yeah, Kyle from Home Depot, that's right. How did your father like the way you cleaned up the yard?” He took a deep breath and let the air out of his lungs in a steady, uninterrupted stream. “Say, I was wondering...”
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“Yeah, I noticed.” the black man’s expression softened. His son kept glancing back and forth between his father and the salesman. The man ran a finger over the small, induction motor. “Blade might wander with the grain, if the saw is underpowered.”
Kyle smiled at the boy, who promptly grabbed his father’s hand. “The Ryobi’s a great tool for hobbyists and weekend warriors; the Rigid is a commercial-quality workhorse.”
“What about blades?”
“You’re better off with thin kerf, silicon steel,… quarter-inch blades for general purpose cuts… wider diameters when ripping stock.”
* * * * *
Kyle took early coffee break. He got a cup of coffee and took it out back, even though an intermittent light rain was coating the asphalt with a slick, glossy sheen. He went and stood in the rear of the store near the dumpsters where no one would bother him and he could put his fractured thoughts in order. When he first arrived at the Rasmussen's property and learned that the old man wasn't there, Kyle assumed that the daughter wanted to seduce him. While Miranda was chopping logs and showing him her mother’s flowery memorial, he was undressing her with his eyes, imagining all sorts of lewd and lascivious trysts. But there was no hidden agenda, and he was no better than the ignorant dolts cloistered away in Plato's murky cave. Too caught up in adolescent fantasies, all he got for his trouble was a glass of fresh-made lemonade, tour of the rock garden and smattering of Greek philosophy.
Reaching for his cell phone, he dialed information and requested the number for the Rasmussens at forty-one Evans Drive. “Hi, Miranda?... Yeah, Kyle from Home Depot, that's right. How did your father like the way you cleaned up the yard?” He took a deep breath and let the air out of his lungs in a steady, uninterrupted stream. “Say, I was wondering...”
Imprint
Publication Date: 03-18-2011
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