( )He tried not to look at the leaves. He would do it like pulling off a band-aid, he thought. Then again, he thought, he would do it slowly, with graceful strokes.
( )Michele placed a kitchen chair down in the backyard, four legs of wood set into the late-season grass. His fingers, crooked, bent with stiffness, the cool air suffering them to the bone, held the orange chord and plugged it into the outlet beneath the porch.
( )The wind blew against him; he looked down at his shirt, the fabric snapping back against his chest, clinging to his faded muscles, and he touched his chest.