I saw Bill sitting in his yard and as he turned to look at me, I approached and said "Bill, I just stopped by to bullshit with you - did I pick an OK time?" Bill nodded and I slid an adirondack next to him. "I brought us some Yuengling if you're thirsty". Bill nodded again as I handed him an opened can. "Let's see, yesterday we talked about when you worked at the highway department back east - any more stories about that?" Bill in his usual manner told me about a time when the crosstown freeway was being firmed up and he was assigned to talk to the property owners who wouldn't agree to the terms offered by the initial highway guys and Bill had to meet with them once more and explain what eminent domain meant to them. Bill's style was understated and solidified by his ice blue eyes that let those in proximity of him know that he was truthful and sincere. Well, this farmer near the middle of the route wanted to hear nothing about any highway bordering on his place so Bill pulls in his driveway and gets the guy to give him 5 minutes of his time about how the project was going to affect his property line and the 5 minutes last all afternoon. Bill convinced him that he was kin and described the farmer's ancestors like he walked among them. Bill can't explain how he knew the guy's aunt had a missing finger or that the great-grandfather fought in WWI, but he did, just like he convinced me everyday that Bill only deals in truth. The point of Bill's story was that when he finally wrapped up that session with the farmer, they were friends to the point the guy said "leave the papers for the other people who hadn't signed and he'd take care of it". And he did - every single last one of them all signed. So I asked Bill with that kind of success, why did he leave the highway department and he said "because they started a zero tolerance policy on drinkin'" Bill liked his Yuenglings and I knew where ever he worked next, there wasn't any stinkin' no-drinkin' policy.