I don't care if you want me to call it unique. It's WEIRD

It was 117 degrees today. And though I was working outside, I was in Bristol, right by the river, so there was a nice breeze coming in off the water that made it seem like a chilly 105 degrees.

Stan (or possibly Tony, depending on whether you went by the name on his shirt or the name tattooed on his arm), the maintenance man for the funeral home, came out to talk to us. Or to talk near us, more accurately, because he talked about topics of his choosing for as long as he chose and would not address our questions. He was a weird character, for certain. He meant well though. Sort of. I guess. Maybe a little anyway. Toward the end of our brief time together, he spotted a human of the female variety down the street. He put on his glasses to get a better look, a look which informed him that the woman was "our age," he told my colleague and I. Then he recognized her as the tenant of the basement apartment in the building by which we were working (a small apartment building presumably owned by the owner of the adjacent funeral home whose employ we were in). He proceeded to inform us that she lived there alone and needed a husband. I politely ignored his suggestion that i should marry her, despite his kind advice in regards to the art of wooing (which mostly involved wine).

But if anyone needs a talent for voice-over work on a cartoon, commercial, or spoken word album that can pull off a raspy, self-conscious, small-industry town accented voice, I know exactly where to find her.