He was getting animated. “I learned how to fix a bike when I lived out in Ypsi, right? Because I was so broke that I couldn’t afford a car. And my bike was so busted, I had to keep goin’ on YouTube over and over to figure out how to fix this thing and that thing and the other thing. Lord, that was a tough year. Bikin’ everywhere and bakin’ bread. But y’know, I learned to fix anything that could break on a bike. Eventually, I started fixing my friends’ bikes for, y’know, money for beer, or just as a favor. And I got a reputation.”

I could see it so clearly. There were places like this all over Ann Arbor — some old house built in eighteen-whatever, trans-formed by the ceaseless creative industry of the local eccentrics into ethically-sourced coffee shops, disorganized record stores, one-man musical instrument repair operations, boutiques for off-brand Wolverine merch (“Harvard: The Michigan of the East” “Ann Arbor: Ten Square Miles Surrounded by Reality”). He was going to become a member of The Local Community again, the only way he knew how. What he was telling me was just a rough draft of what he was going to tell the journalist for the Ann Arbor Observer. It was like he was looking straight through me into the future.

I took a sip of water before continuing to attack the hash browns. “So why not open the shop in Ypsi?” I said with my mouth full.

“I love that old house, but it’s too much for me to live in,” he said. “Y’know, I think your grandmother thought I would remarry, but I’m too old now.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’m gonna convert the top floor into an apartment, nice and spartan,” he said. “Hey,” he continued, looking at me across the table (he hadn’t touched his food). “Your mom said you’re lookin’ for work. Why don’t ya work for me? I’ll pay you fifteen an hour to haul all her shit out of the house and fix up the place, and then you can work for me once business gets goin’.”

Obviously, this was what it was working up to. “Sure, I guess,” I said evenly. “Only for a bit, though. I’m moving soon.”

“No worries!” he said, grinning. “I’d love to have ya. It’ll keep you out of trouble.”

I raised my eyebrows. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Tomorrow at seven,” he said. “I’ll see you there?”

I looked at him. “Sure.”

He cut himself a big piece of pancake and shoved it into his mouth. “Deal,” he said with his mouth full, and extended his hand across the table for a handshake.

♒