I don't know why I'm even writing this, just... it's been buzzing in my head all week, like a fly trapped in a jar. Been trying to ignore it, you know? Just keep on, keep on. But it won't let up. Usually, I'm pretty good at pushing things down. That's how we do it around here. Just... keep going. It was Tuesday. Last Tuesday. The humidity was THICK, like breathing soup, felt like 90 degrees easily, even though the weather app said 87. Mid-afternoon, maybe 2:30, 3 o'clock. Sun beating down on old Mrs. Henderson’s new patio. She wanted a fancy herringbone pattern with those big bluestones, the ones that weigh a TON. Been working on that job for three weeks now, her damn dog barking every time we moved a wheelbarrow. Anyway, I was grabbing one of those big square ones, probably 24x24 inches, about four inches thick. We had a pallet of 'em. Usually, no problem. I’ve lifted thousands of those things. My back is like concrete. My hands, too. Used to be. I knelt down, got my grip. Right hand on one side, left on the other, tucked in close. This one was a particularly ugly, rough-cut one, all jagged edges. Had a little bit of moss on it still. Felt like it was stuck to the ground, even though it wasn't. And I heaved. Like I always do. Got it maybe three, four inches off the ground, a little grunt, you know, the usual. And then... my right hand just... slipped. Not like it was wet, not really. Just felt like the strength… it just wasn't there. Like the connection between my brain and my fingers just fizzled. The stone slammed back down, right onto the pavers we’d already laid. Missed my foot by an INCH, swear to God. Heard ol' Mikey, the apprentice, snicker a bit. "Bit heavy for ya, boss?" he said, grinning. I just grunted back, told him to shut his pie hole. But it wasn't a joke. Not for me. I picked it up again, slower this time, really concentrated, white-knuckled it. Got it onto the sand bed. My hand was shaking a little. NO ONE saw it, not really. But I felt it. The tremor. Like a little old man's hand. I’m only fifty-four. Not ancient. But it felt like... the clock just sped up ten years right there. Felt like I hit a wall, you know? Like I'd been going 100 mph and suddenly the engine sputtered. And what the hell do you do when the one thing you're good at, the one thing that pays the bills, the thing you've done since you were a skinny kid helping your dad, just... starts to go? My whole damn identity is in these hands. In this back. In being able to lift the damn stone. I looked around at the other guys, Mikey, barely out of high school, strong as an ox. And Tommy, who’s only a few years younger than me but he’s built like a tank. They’re just... stronger. Younger. It's not like I got other options. This ain't some big city where you can just hop from one thing to another. Out here, you got bricklaying, farming, or working at the feed store. And my farm's been gone for twenty years. So, yeah. It just... sits there. That feeling. Like maybe I’m already used up. What then? Just watch the sun set on the porch and wait for the rest of it to crumble? I don't know. Just... don't know.