By Nathan Sampey
Cold, black rain thuds on the scanman’s head. A day’s work ahead, and just one messy morning to get it done. But complaining is not in a scanman’s nature, so…
Bzzzt.
Bzzzt.
On the third bzzzt, the once-red door of the once-blue house snicks open—only a cautious crack. An old woman peers out and up. She sees a thin shadow, hears rain pounding on smooth metal.
She whimpers and throws her 112 pounds against the door, but the scanman is on deadline.
Done with one, it pulls back into the downpour and glides toward the next address on its list.
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