My Mask
This morning I exited my apartment building from the back door so I could empty my trash. I noticed the car that had been parked in the alley yesterday was still there, and now there was a citation under the windshield wiper. As I began the short walk to Ryan's house, I conjured up a wild story about the car's owner:
He must live in one of the apartments in either of these buildings, I thought. He was unloading boxes from his car but was then murdered, so his car sat out here all night. Now he lies dead in his room and no one knows where he is. When the police find him, the officer who gave him the ticket will feel stupid because he gave a citation to a dead person. I sure hope he doesn't live in my apartment building. I don't want a murdered man in my building.
Ryan thought that was a great story. "You're awesome... just in case no one told you today."
He must live in one of the apartments in either of these buildings, I thought. He was unloading boxes from his car but was then murdered, so his car sat out here all night. Now he lies dead in his room and no one knows where he is. When the police find him, the officer who gave him the ticket will feel stupid because he gave a citation to a dead person. I sure hope he doesn't live in my apartment building. I don't want a murdered man in my building.
Ryan thought that was a great story. "You're awesome... just in case no one told you today."