You're on the way to Grandpa Paul's house, to help him move out because you're a good grandson. And he volunteered to pay you fifty bucks to move around some boxes that probably aren't even heavy. You're actually a little surprised he called you, given how aloof he is about family. He'll chime in every couple years or so to meet back up with everyone, exchange gifts, and give that goofy smile that everyone finds endearing. Otherwise, it's radio silence. Paul is a good person, though, and his ailing health probably has something to do with the spotty record for attendance.
You grab a jacket, lock the door, and leave the apartment. You're not going to turn down a little cash in a world where rent goes up and pay stays flat. Paul won't need it much anyway, since he's going into retirement. You get in the vehicle, start the engine, and drive out of the outskirt suburbs, following rural roads to a turn. The car roves over grass and dirt, coming to a quick stop at an unassuming wood-beam house. There's a ladder propped against it, upon which a lanky figure stands, throwing powder on the roof that thwarts moss. He smiles at you, that same goofy smile, then finishes the chore before climbing down to say hi.
“Is that you, Stanley?” He walks up to take better measure. “It's so good of you to come. I knew you would, for the money if nothing else!” He gives a wry grin and chuckles you through the door. You tell him how you've been, and make small talk about the pumpkins outside. It's hard to think he'll have a lot of kids at the door on Halloween tonight, especially with everything boxed up against windows. Of course, with your insatiable sweet tooth and the candy he waves at you, that's not something you feel like pointing out. He scoots you through the house, past a room brimming with yarn — relics of his late wife — to a hallway claimed by heavy boxes of derelict hobbies. Everything from wood plane kits to soldering tools fills them, and you really wish he didn't have all these fleeting interests, since it would make the move a lot easier.
“Why don't you sell some of this clutter? I know you don't need it.”
“I can't find a lot of time”, he replies. “I'm cataloging my sponge collection because I've got a pitch from a museum.”