The old man leans on his shovel. He's dressed in old coveralls that have seen better years, a pair of old boots, a white cotton shirt, an old hat, and a cane.

He pulls out his battered phone, the cracked screen making him squint his eyes and retrieve his pair of cracked bifocals, snapping them open to peer at the time on the screen.

He mutters out loud in his wheezy voice, "...It's getting late."

The sun is setting towards the west, casting the old man's shadow down the dirt road as he ambles home, pressing most of his weight onto his cane every other step.

He winces and pauses to rub his back, saying, "ouch... that hurts."

He presses firmly on his back for a few moments, increasing his strength and leaning back, until several loud cracks pop out. He sighs in deep pleasure and then rubs his neck, a few more pops sounding.

The fellow walks forward with pep in his step, twerking his booty as he scoots down the road for a dozen yards before slowing back down.

"I still have some get up and go in me, but that's enough fun for today. My garden looks great. Back home for me, I bet my chili is ready in the slow cooker." He peers down the road in anticipation and proceeds.

He arrives at a two-story house in about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. He passes the mailbox and struggles up the stairs to the front porch.

He rests on his cane to gather his breath for a few moments before wobbling over to the door to push it open. The warm air of the house heats his spirit as the delectable scent of his from-scratch chili drills into his nose, lighting his eyes up.

The next morning finds the gentle rolling beeping of his phone filling the room. He lays on a thick, king-sized bed under a quilted blanket, his heater keeping the place nice and toasty for the elderly fellow.

His phone's assistant speaks up, "Good morning Mr. Jackie Lewin, today's weather is clear skies and a high of 58 and a low of 25 degrees Fahrenheit. The news is..."

The voice needles into his ears, and he groans as he pulls himself awake.

Another beep sounds in the room.

The coffee pot on the dresser starts percolating automatically, filling the room with the warm scent of fresh coffee.

Jackie pulls himself out of bed and showers, then takes a handful of prescription medications of various kinds. "Heart trouble, doc says, I hope this helps."

Jackie Lewin helps himself to a cup of coffee and settles into his most comfortable leather chair to scroll on his tablet. His face lights up as he looks at his grandchildren's pictures on social media. He sees some funny pictures and other stuff that he shares to his other surviving old buddies that are still kicking around.

He sighs and wrestles to his feet, pulling his cane for support. Mr. Lewin steps outside and departs for his garden down the road.

The old man arrives and discovers that his tools are missing.

"Now where did I put those tools? My shovel? What am I to do? I'm too old to be digging channels with my bare hands. Dear lord."

He hobbles over to the far edge of the field, "Not here." He meanders to the back of the field, "Don't see them here either." He frowns deeply, "Is my memory failing me? I hope not; doc said I was good."

He finishes making a tour around his field in the time it takes to eat a meal and sighs, "Can't trust no-one these days. Thieves are snatching my tools. Fifth time this year. Oh well, I wish it wouldn't happen anymore. My ticker can't handle this frustration."

He returns home and sets off in his battered old truck.

Jackie leans forward as he drives, chin just above the steering wheel as he sees the road zooming past far too quickly. He slows down to a safe speed. He sees drivers passing him by and making 'friendly gestures' out of their windows or honking their horns to say 'hello.'

"Friendly folk everywhere nowadays. Except for those tool thieves, their parents should be ashamed to raise those damned hooligans."

He turns off into the hardware store parking lot and eases his truck into a handicapped space. Jackie pulls his old body out of the beat-up old vehicle and slams the door. He totters for the door and enters the vast hardware store.

"Shovel, need a shovel. Now, where are those employees?"

His cane clacks against the polished industrial concrete floor every other step until he sees a vested employee leaning against a rack, looking at his phone. That employee snaps his eyes up at that moment, meeting gazes with old Jackie.

The employee stuffs his phone into his pocket and vanishes down the aisle, causing Jackie to stomp his foot, "That rascal! He knew I needed help, but fled, dadgummit. See if he can get away from me that easy!"

Jackie takes a deep breath and fire ignites in his old eyes, their dull surface regaining a bit of twinkle as he rushes forward and down the aisle that the employee vanished down. He sees the back of the fellow turn the next corner.

"Found you!" He huffs and shuffles as quickly as he can along the shelves. His breathing becomes heavier as he moves, his legs start hurting more, and his back starts sending shocks of pain into his body, but he pushes on, beads of sweat forming on his wrinkled skin. "You won't escape my questions! I have many things to ask, but I'm not sure what they are yet, but I'm sure I'll know after talking to you for a few minutes! Come back here!"

He turns the corner of aisle seven and discovers a different employee stocking the shelf.

The employee turns around and says in concern, "Sir, may I help you find anything today?"

He approaches Jackie and says, "Is everything all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jackie pauses to look at the fellow and clears his thought, "Yes, actually I need these tools," He tells the young man about the items he came for, "Oh, and a new shovel!"

The young man smiles and replies, "How about I pick up the tools you need and meet you by the shovels? They are down aisle eight, take your time to pick."

Jackie nods, "I appreciate it-" He looks at the name tag, "-Mr. Long." He pats the employee on the shoulder and takes a few breaths before departing for aisle eight.

He starts walking down aisle eight and narrows his eyes, "So many different types of shovels. Fiberglass handle, steel handle, anodized, serrated edge, portable and collapsible, high-end alloy, survival. That's just too much for me; I want an old classic. Hopefully, this will be the last shovel I'll ever own before I pass on to be with my wife."

He rubs his chin as he progresses along the shovels.

Jackie's eyes snap to the last shovel. It has a light wooden shaft with chrome plated handle and a shimmering, chrome polished head. The craftsmanship screams good buy to Jackie. "Now, that is a nice shovel! Sure; polishing it after work every day will take up time, but at least as long as it's in my hands those tool snatchers won't get it."

He pulls the shovel from the rack and turns it over in his hands. "It feels good. Real good. The weight is just right, and it's just the right height for me at my age to put my weight onto the head for a good push into the soil. I like this one a lot."

Jackie smiles, eyes sparkling at the new toy he just got.

He turns around and discovers that he can see far into the distance from the top of a forested mountain. "What...?"

[Ding!]

[Welcome to the Shovel System.]