Locus of control, self versus circumstance, with a heat pump call as the setting.
He had the flashlight in his hand before I had the truck in park. Late August, one of those weeks where the pavement in Kingfisher is still warm at ten at night. Brick ranch on the edge of town, well kept, garage swept. Retired fellow, early seventies, the kind who keeps a legal pad by the phone. His air conditioner had quit the afternoon before. By the time I pulled up he had already checked the breaker, pulled the filter and held it up to the window, cycled the thermostat off and back on, and gone outside to listen to the condenser. He had it all written down, with times. He told me all of…
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