Mindy Fortune

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I start my day at work walking dogs. Now I walk these dogs on the same route every morning. I should probably set the scene for you to fully understand exactly where this fear stems from. The neighborhood where I walk them is down a dead end street with a few unusual nondescriptive businesses making up the street. At the cul-de-sac is some sort of car fixing or racing, or something to do with making their engines sound really loud, type of business. Then there is a place where guys are always carrying wood in and out, and during their lunch hour, a bunch of Mexican guys gather and kick a soccer ball around while hitting and setting off various car alarms in the parking lot. Next to that, behind an iron fence, is this undisclosed company that is constantly getting shipments of flat screen TVs and other pricey electronic equipment that I am always tempted to ask if they ‘fell off the back of some truck.’ There is also in the vicinity, a magical secret place that makes blueberry muffins. I don’t know where this place is, but I know it exists because of the heavenly scent I smell at least a few times a month. There is a row of houses that include a guy who owns a landscaping business who says things like, “that oriental girl” and next to him is a house which not too long ago, had the entire SWAT team surrounding it, guns aimed, hoping to bust up some sort of heroin or meth lab running out of it. So already, the environment is a little different then your basic white picket fence laced neighborhood. Oh, there’s also, the concurring stream of homeless folks, that frequent a path behind a fence in the cul-de-sac who are generally friendly all ages and types, and who for some reason don’t have a place to live but they all seem to have bikes. So with that gloriously painted picture, add in some really thick bushes and trees making a kind of thicket which is only about a 6 by 10 foot area. I believe this is the scene of the impending future dead body dump. I think this because every time I walk one of the dogs, they always want to sniff in there and try to pull me toward this spot. The bushes are so thick though, that you can’t see what lies in them or behind them so it would easily be a place that could hide a body and no one would know because there is so many other smells going on in that same area. (dog? poo, old chicken wings, taco wrappers, and the previously stated muffins of course) I just know that one day; one of the puppies is going to be sticking his head into the bushes only to come out with a mouthful of boot attached to one of the murdered characters that make up my daily adventure every morning. I vow to not be surprised. I will just say, “Samson, No! Put it back and just poop so we can go inside and eat breakfast.”