My Fourth of July was a working holiday. Garey and I went to see his mom, Aggie, because she called the Friday before, upset over how the storms that swept through her area of Alabama a few days before had flooded her basement. I didn’t need to see her basement to know exactly where the water had seeped in. The origin wasn’t a mystery to either Garey or his sister, Charlotte. Because of the countless times Garey’s cousin, Neal, had vacuumed up the flooded basement, he could also tell you at what point the water had entered the basement. More than likely, Aggie’s dog, Angel, if prompted