“TJ, get your ass down from that crane,” came over the radio. It was my foreman. See, I ain’t supposed to operate heavy machinery when I’m on my meds and he always knows when on on them on account of my . . . drowsiness, slowness, I guess, going through the day like a piece of driftwood. But, hell, I also ain’t supposed to drive when I’m drifting, so, I figured since I drove and arrived alive I’m good enough to get my ass up in a crane. Foreman...