" good, ridding himself of both toxins and drugs. It looked like he was starting to get his strength back. “Good morning,” I said. Mutt looked up, said nothing, and kept picking at the ground with his pick. “You okay?” Mutt looked around as if I had spoken to someone else. I made eye contact and said it again. “You okay?” He nodded and dug the pick into some soft earth. I walked around the light, not casting a shadow on his work. “What’re you doing?” Mutt looked around, behind me, underneath the tip of his pick, and then fumbled with his hands, "

― Charles Martin , Wrapped in Rain