((Lighter installment, first living fluffy of the series))
“You’ve got five minutes. Walk with me.”
“Thank you Mr. Anderson.”
The mill ached and moaned as workers tore out rotten wood, mildewed drywall and more from the third floor. Power saws and sledgehammers filled the air along with the racket of debris filling dumpsters.
The weather hit 60 degrees Fahrenheit, but between running around the site and the layers of clothes had Lyle sweating. Since removing the propane gas system the work had begun in earnest, with many of his days starting at 6 am and ending at 9 pm on-site.
Having a sales-rep show up months ahead of actually being ready didn’t really do him any favors, but the momentary distraction wasn’t a horrible thing.
“Like I said, I’m Robert Davidson with South East Animal Supply,” the bearded man smiled. “We heard through the grapevine you were going to be restarting the mill here, although I looks like I’m a bit early.”
“A bit.”
“Anyhow, we’ve been serving farmers, animal breeders, trainers, all sorts of clients for the past fifty years. Feed, supplies, whatever you might need.”
“Fluffies?”
“Sure thing. All grades of kibble, non-prescription medical supplies, an array of pheromones, aphrodisiacs…”
“Aphro-what?”
“Aphrodisiacs. Let’s be honest, most stallions tend to have a hard time performing in mill conditions,” Robert shrugged. “Its the environment… tends to be a real boner killer, you know?”
Lyle looked away but nothing in the forest was of interest.
“Oh, and we’ve got lots of options for hardware too. Base plans for breeding pens, harvesting gates, things like that…”
“Can I get your card Robert, I need to get back to work here.”
“Oh, sure, here you go. Just call me when you’re ready. And ask me anything about the business!”
Lunch meant an hour away from the building but not from work. Lyle poked at the greasy-spoon fare as emails scrolled by. The chili came recommended but it was a bit bland. He sighed at the hot sauce, more heat than flavor with too much vinegar to boot. Invoice this, permit that, grant proposal something else.
“Mr. Anderson?”
A tall black man looked down at Lyle, messenger bag slung around his shoulder.
“Can I help you?”
“I was hoping so, actually. May I join you?”
“Well,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got things to get back to so if you don’t mind me eating…”
“No, of course not, thank you,” was answered. “I won’t be long.”
The gray-templed man sat down, setting the canvas bag beside himself. Lyle watched as it was opened and a yellow folder brought out. A few papers were brought out then laid in front of him.
“My name is Pastor Louis Evans, and I’m with a local non-denominational church down the road from your building.”
“Hello Pastor… Louis? Evans?”
“Just Louis is fine, honestly,” he laughed lightly, glasses getting pushed up. “Anyhow, we had actually put in a bid for that building before you got it, but it looks like your offer was better.”
Lyle nodded quietly.
“We were hoping to buy the building and turn it into a half-way house for the community,” he started. “I’ve been looking for other places since then, but I noticed there’s never been anything in the newspaper about you rezoning the building. Are you planning to keep it for business rather than turning it into apartments or something?”
“Yep,” the younger man started. “My partners and I are planning on rehabilitating that mill. Bring it up to more humane standards, more focus on quality than just sheer numbers.”
“Ah,” Louis said flatly. “Well, this is some information about the program our church has. We’ve been trying to help folks recently released from state find jobs. Its a bit challenging as I’m sure you’d understand. Worse for the long-timers, too.”
“The mill won’t be ready for quite some time, honestly.”
“I’m not sure if a fluffy mill would give them the skills, experience, or the type of culture they’d need to get back into the greater workforce. But that construction work you’ve got right now might.”
Lyle flinched. “Hey, its honest work.”
“I’m… sure it is. Sorry, that was rude,” Louis’ eyes closed as fingers rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The last owner of that place kind of soured a lot of folks here.”
“That’s understandable, but give me a chance first, okay?”
“Daddy, can we go home? I’ve got homework to do.”
Pastor Louis and Lyle turned to see a twelve year old girl, hair pulled back, dark green fluffy in a diaper laid over her shoulder, head looking around as it mumbled about nummies and bad smells.
“I think that’s my cue to get going,” Louis said, getting up from the table’s bench. “Say ‘hello’ to Mr. Lyle, Angela.”
“Hello Mr. Lyle,” Angela beamed. She turned around, the fluffy’s face looking at Lyle. “Say ‘hello’ Oscar!”
Oscar’s green eyes met Lyle’s, growing wide. He snorted twice before burying his face into Angela’s jacket and “ppppptttthhhhhhbbbbt” erupting from his diaper.
“Oh dear.”
“Oh dear is right… come on Angela, let’s get you two out of here.”
Lyle watched as the three left in a hurry, fussing amongst themselves. A waitress started pouring him more coffee, cigarette dangling off her lips.
“And that, good sir,” she said blandly. “Is why we insist all them things wear diapers in here.”
