It arrived on a Saturday, in a wooden crate larger than her. From the front pathway she watched the two heavy-set men secure it onto a furniture dolly and wheel it in through the open garage.
*”Lift up on that end, Steve. —No, wait wait! Hold on, yeah let me get this corner.”* He struggled to rotate the large box clockwise so he could ease it down through the door frame into her duplex but it stuck on two sides. He pulled it back then pushed it forward again, it caught at the same place. Bill scratched at his head beneath his baseball cap and, with a thick, polite southern drawl that reminded her of Gomer Pyle, asked *”Now whudda we do?”* Steve removed a little square tape measure from his front pocket and stretched the flimsy metal across the length of the crate, then measured the width of the doorway, sucking on a tooth in concentration as he did so. A quick jerk of his head indicated it wasn’t good news as he let the tape measure snap back into a roll. “Shit, it ain’t gonna fit, Bill.”