
DON'T MESS WITH ALBERT
In the wee hours of the morning, I hear him sound off. Like a well trained sentry, he alerts me. From the house, I can see a car approaching, headlights on high beam. The newspaper is being delivered. As I make my way down our long driveway in the dim morning light, I can see him floating leisurely in his pool, tiny slivers of ice surrounding him. As I scoop up the paper, I see him beckoning me to join him. “Hey, Chic, come on in – the water's fine,” he announces. “Thanks, bu