Yesterday afternoon it finally warmed up after a few seasonably cool days and some snow. It was Sunday, Landlady had returned to self-quarantining in the city and nobody was likely to call. I stripped down and had a much-needed sink bath.
And I was not yet entirely clothed when I got a text:
Just noticed a white van taking stuff out of the shed at [TC] place??
And I pulled on my BDUs and boots and my .44, and Torso Boy and I headed out in the Jeep to see what was going on at TC’s place. Almost time for afternoon chicken chores anyway.
It turned out to be nothing bad – good, actually, a nice older lady who’s in the process of buying the place. TC died a few years ago and everything there has been bleaching alone in the sun ever since. Might even get some hauling gigs out of it. But the irony of the situation did occur to me, as it always does. How did I, the sketchy cop-hating loner, end up becoming the neighborhood’s cop?