I was sitting on the parking lot of Country Mart, writing in the checkbook, when I got a text from Hick, who I assumed was at his Storage Unit Store, where I'd seen his truck as I passed by around 1:30 on Sunday. Of course I read Hick's text! I wouldn't ignore something like that. Reading it is one thing. Understanding it is another.
"What is on his way out there Val Buddy is on his way out he's going to look at the side beside sitting over by the barn so if you see a silver truck over there as he is"
"Makes no sense, but a silver truck. Ok."
I presumed (it doesn't pay to ASSume with Hick) that somebody in a silver truck might be waiting for Hick by the BARn. And he was tipping me off not to go all vigilante and do something crazy like take a picture of his license plate. By the time I got to Dairy Queen, Hick had clarified a bit more, with a second text.
"He's looking at the old side by side ill be there pretty soon."
Okay. That made sense. Now I wouldn't accuse a Friend of Hick of casing the joint to come back later and steal our superfluous side-by-side. Which is like the Gator, only red, and an off-brand.
Had I been sending that text myself, I would have worded it differently.
"Buddy is on his way to our homestead. He's going to look at the Scout to see if he wants to purchase it as-is with the dead battery and carburetor problem. He will be traveling in a silver pickup truck, which you may see parked near the BARn, having left tracks through the field. Should you observe a strange fellow of whom you are not familiar, it is he."
Nah. I wouldn't text that. I hate to text.