DAY 1 - CONDON
Note to self: It’s bad karma to kill locals.
The victim never saw it coming. He met his fate on a deserted Oregon road in the late golden glow of a summer’s afternoon. Life extinguished. Gone. Snuffed out in a nanosecond. No Colonel Mustard on the scene. No candlestick. Don’t even ask about a library.
I tell you this because life ain’t no board game, viagra canada clinic kids. This proves it. Just a puff of feathers, best viagra patient a dull thud, and you’re gone. Feathers are optional of course, but will always add to the mystique.
“Umm…was that a duck?”
“Looked more like a quail,” I say. “But I did only see it for a split second.”
The murderer—let’s call him Matthias N. of Queanbeyan, NSW, Australia—turns towards me. I am nearly blinded by the guilt flashing in neon on his face.
“You swerved to hit it,” I say, thinking this will be a good bit to needle the boy with. But poor Matt, he wears his guilt like the Bayeux Tapestry. All stitched in, complete, and hung for all to see.
“Actually, maybe it was a grouse?” I say. I have no idea what grouse look like, but there’s a distinct possibility that I’ve just seen one.
The golden fields flash by and Killer Matt is quiet. I note for future reference that he is far too honest and pure. He’d be hopeless in a line up. Crack like a walnut. I rule out any future Bonnie and Clyde-type heists with him.
So you’re probably wondering where we are. Let me bring you up to speed. Read the rest of this entry »
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