Right about then, the plasterer arrived. He's a nice guy. "Take your time, Danny," he says. He's Irish as in from Ireland and seems to like my brother's name--probably the only person in the whole, wide world other than mom who can still call Dan Danny. It has a nice ring when he says it, a lilt and a hollow tin can feeling sound. He's got a cup of coffee and he goes back out to his van for his next load of stuff.
Dan gets up on a stool, measuring furiously.