“Ron, you are going to fall on your ass.” Tom Murray was standing behind Ron with his arms folded.

“So.”

“And then someone’s going to have to take you to the hospital again. Then someone else is going to have to do your sweeping for you. Why is it you insist on being such a pain?”

Ron was standing positioned over a square gap in the concrete floor. His left foot stood on the floor and his right arm held onto a suspended steel beam. In his left hand he held an industrial-sized broom. The gap was three feet deep.

“You’re just jealous of my cat-like agility,” said Ron with a sweaty grin.

“You’re a moron, and that’s why we can’t trust you with anything but brooming.”

Ron laughed as he repositioned himself against the beam. He pushed the broom forward and pulled it back.

“Why don’t you just climb down there?”

“Climb down there?” replied Ron, glancing down past his bowling ball of a stomach. His left boot scratched against the dirty cement floor as he panted. “If I get down there I might not be able to get back up.”

“What’s so important down there anyway? You’re supposed to be sweeping the floor where the workers have been. We have a developer stopping by this afternoon.”

Ron laughed. Tom stepped to the square.

“It’s important,” returned Ron, staring into Tom’s beady brown eyes. Tom was a slim man with tanned baseball-glove skin and gray receded hair. His skin color came close to matching the bright orange of his Horace Construction t-shirt.

“Ants! You’re sweeping anthills? God! You are a moron. I don’t know why I ever let your uncle convince me to take you on. You are as useless as tits on a boar-hog.”

Pushing the broom forward Ron wiped out another anthill. Ants scampered off hysterical in each direction.

“You see,” said Ron, laughing.

“That’s it. Get off that beam and get up to the second floor.”

Ron wiped out another hill.

“Now!”

“OK!” said Ron, irritated. He pulled the broom up and swung back over to the floor.

“Do I have to follow you around to make sure that you are doing your job?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

Grabbing his broom with both hands Ron walked off. He had not tied the laces to his work boots. Their rubber soles clapped off of the cement floor as he made tracks. Tom shook his head.

Up on the second floor, Ron heard a drill working its way into something. He wanted to be a drill man, but had yet to convince Tom to promote him from the broom. At the end of the room a metallic silver ladder led to the second floor. Ron hated office buildings, and not just because they were working on one. He put his first foot on the bottom rung and it felt hollow. Holding the broom in his right hand he grabbed for the next rung with his left. His other foot mounted another rung and he began to climb.

The drill revved up again for a couple seconds and then stopped. Ron reached the top of the ladder and placed his broom up on the floor before finishing his ascent. A few feet away from the ladder stood Billy Archer and Steve Morris.

“Steve, I have to get home early today and then somehow wash my car before giving my kid a lift to his baseball practice! Can you believe that?”

“Maybe it’ll rain.”

“What’s the word, Billy?” said Ron.

“Ronnie! The old man finally let you up to the second floor, eh?”

Ron smiled confused. “Yeah.”

“Well get your fat ass away from the ladder so I can get down!”

Ron picked up his broom and passed Billy. The second floor to the building was really only a floor still. There were no walls or even a ceiling. Steel beams stood out at the structure’s corners. Ron looked at the gray clouds hanging-out in the sky. He counted eight orange shirts behind Steve and all of them were busy sawing things, marking things, hauling things, or hammering things. Ron placed his broom’s head down and caressed the ground with it.

“What’s the word, Ron?”

“Where do you need me, Mr. Morris?” Ron liked Steve.

“Over there near the corner,” said Steve. Standing in place he stroked his gray mustache. “The corner where Al was sawing could use a sweep as well.”

“You think it’s going to rain today?”

“What?”

“What happens if it rains?”

“We go home,” replied Steve. “So you better get on that sweeping.”

Ron glanced up at the sky. He would have sworn that the clouds were lower than the previous time he had seen them.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Steve crossed Ron’s path, headed in the opposite direction. A fleeing bird attracted Ron’s attention. The clouds stirred like a thick soup.

“What the hell was that!” shouted Ron.

Steve turned around. “What?”

“The clouds just moved!”

“So?”

“I mean they stirred like water or something.”

Steve examined Ron’s face. “You feeling OK?”

“Yeah. I mean. Did you see that?”

“No,” replied Steve.

Tom Murray climbed up the ladder to the second floor. Steve’s attention shifted as Ron’s eyes kept on the sky. Four clouds traded locations.

“What the hell! What do I have to do to get you to work, Ron?”

“But the clouds—”

“The clouds bullshit!” yelled Tom, glancing up at the sky. Six clouds traded places. “What the hell!”

The wind had picked up.

“What!”

A giant work boot swept through the sky.

“What the…”

The boot struck the side of their building, crushing its structure. Beneath their feet the floor quaked and half of them fell to their knees and stomachs. Those who could stand up ran for the ladder. The work boot re-emerged from the clouds and this time it was bearing directly down upon them. Ron stared at the boot’s sole. Its traction grooves looked like they were made of brown gelatin. Two other orange shirts cried. Steve ran for the ladder. None of the workers reached the first floor in time.