The sun isn’t up yet. The mountains to the East have an orange glow where the sun will soon be and there is too much light to see the stars. Ricky’s still asleep. He’s curled up in his sleeping bag at the far corner of our tree house. He doesn’t snore. He just breathes heavy. I watch the top of the mountain until the top edge of the sun appears. I turn away; you’re not supposed to look at the sun.
Ricky rolls over and looks at me through half open eyes, “Is it morning?” he asks.
“Not sure,” I answer, “when exactly does morning start?”
Ricky rolls back the other way and looks toward the mountains, “it’s morning,” he informs me, “and we’re going to make real money?”
“That’s what I was told. He said if we wanted to make some money to be ready when the sun came up.”
Ricky crawls out of his sleeping bag, stands and stretches. I’m ready,” he announces just as my father pokes his head out the back door and shouts, “ten minutes!” We both put on our shoes and take the rope exit to the ground.