In the center of Jeffrey’s basement floor is a drain. Like the one in the center of mine, it works fine when, say, the washer overflows. However, during hard rains the drain regurgitates. My floor and walls are porous so the drain contributes minimally to my then wet basement. Jeff’s single leak is that drain, and yesterday we drove to Home Depot in search of the square nut we needed to lock the drain down, to keep water from backing up.

Jeff doubted we’d find anything but your typical hexagonal nut, but I remained convinced we’d have our pick of sizes. I was wrong. Long metal shelves of every conceivable size of nut and bolt, but not a single square one. I sidled up next to an older gentleman, tall, skin like tanned cow hide and a John Deere hat.

“You know where we can find square nuts.”

“On the other side of this aisle.”

“Been there and there’s not a one.”

“Rural King. They sell them by the pound.”

I thanked the guy, happy that we’d end our search at our next stop. As Jeff and I wove past backed-up stop lights he asked, “Do you think Rural King will have them?”

I could hardly hear his question. I’d picked out a man with THE answer. In my mind, I’d climbed that snowy peak in Tibet and prostrated myself in front the shiny-domed cross-legged guy with the beatific smile.

“What do you mean, ‘Do I think’? I’ll bet my truck on it.”

Rural King reminds me of the old Spags in Shrewsbury. They have everything and everything is cheap. I stopped in the jeans aisle first, tried on a single pair of jeans to make sure they fit and bought four pairs at 9.99 each. We then found our way to the hardware corner where all the square nuts would be lined up in bins.

“Look, that thing I said about my truck… .”

Embarrassed, I found another customer, this one with an Allis Chalmer’s hat, glasses and hands permanently curled from a lifetime of tractor driving. I asked him where I might find square nuts.

“Not here,” he said.

“I don’t get it, “ I said, “When we were growing up square nuts were everywhere.”

He laughed and said, ”And all you needed was an adjustable wrench.’

At that moment Jeffrey walked up to us with two sizes of square nuts in his hand. He’d found them in a specialty bin three aisles away.

On our way home with square nuts in a plastic bag sitting between us, and my new jeans resting in the bed of the truck, I said, “I have trouble finding jeans my size. The labels often mean nothing. Now I’m happy to have four pairs that fit.

Jeff answered, “No, you have one pair that fits. The one you tried on.”