Deer Xing

“Hey, Alex, you seen the deer?” Web called. He was in his driveway, mostly tucked behind the old Ford F-150, a hand-me-down from his father, and leaning over to grab a cigarette from the little Nissan beater he used for his daily commute to the garage.“Deer?” I asked. “No. You been hunting upstate?”“Naw, season doesn’t start for months yet. I mean the deer in the sump.”The sump was the fenced-in overgrown area directly across the street from our neighboring houses. When Connie and I first moved in, thirty-two years ago, it was Web who had directed me to toss tree cuttings and dead bushes down there deep among the existing foliage. Never actually saw any water collected at its pit, so always been kind of surprised-slash-relieved the town never cleared it out to build more houses.“We have some deer pass through?” I asked, edging my way closer to Web from my front lawn. I was exhausted; just wanted to get back to my couch after running out the trash, but Web had me curious, even if I…