Nolan
The smell of fresh concrete fills my lungs as I pace the perimeter of today's job, checking the edges for any imperfections. The sun beats down on my neck, and I can feel sweat trickling down my back beneath my T-shirt. It's barely ten in the morning, but the temperature's already climbing into the eighties.
"Looking good, boss," Marco calls from where he's smoothing out the last corner. "We'll be ready to stamp in about twenty."
I nod, squinting against the harsh sunlight to examine his work. Marco's been with me for three years now, and I trust his judgment, but I still check everything twice. That's how I built my reputation, being meticulous when other guys cut corners.
"Let's make sure those expansion joints are perfect," I say, kneeling down to get a closer look at the lines we scored into the wet concrete. "Mrs. Kingsley specifically requested a clean geometric pattern. You know how these lake house owners are about their aesthetics."