It was a simple business arrangement: in return for mowing the lawn, I'd get Frankenstein.
I'd seen him hanging from a ceiling. Black suit too short in the leg and arm. White collar in a style that Boris Karloff wouldn't have known. A quiff of black hair and the outrageous forehead dome. His skin, Hulk green. The thin thread of a noose to hang him on.
It was a big lawn. The grass was nearly up to my knees. But I kept on going until the monster of my desire was almost within reach.
Sometimes I stopped in my work. Looked through windows to see what was in the rooms. Dormitories for boys who were safely far away. On one wall, a sky sized poster of John Lennon. The word Why? in large Arial font.
As soon as the payment was in my hand I hotfooted it to Woolworths. Pinkish tiles in the foyer. Tubular hand rails made from a coppery metal. Very smooth from years of shoppers coming and going as we all do in the end, following a thin thread dressed in our best suits.