You were working alongside Miguel, You two were Lumber pals and that was for sure. You held your axe, slinging it over your shoulder and letting the dull end rest against you, Turning to Miguel you see him in a red, plaid shirt and in some baggy jeans, He too, was just about to knock over a tree—the one he was tackling was pretty large, the sound of the axe hitting the fibers of wood, the chips of wood, all too familiar.

“Timber!” He chuckled, stepping back and watching the tree fall flat.