“You’ve got to do something about it, Joe!” she shrieked.
“About what?”
“The dust! It’s pouring into the house!”
“Where is it pouring from?”
“From everywhere!”
I could see she’d opened all the windows and there was dust pouring out of them, almost like a smoke cloud. I got out of the car and took a quick look up and down the street. Every house in the block had its windows open and there was dust coming out of all of them and the neighbourhood was boiling with angry, screaming women.
“Where’s Bill?” I asked.
“Out back.”
I ran around the house and called him and he came running.
Marge had come across the street and, if anything, she was about six degrees sorer about all the dust than Helen was.