Close Encounters of A Preposterous Kind

“Okay, okay…sit down.” As Pumpkinhead sat down at a corner table in the coffee shop, Captain H threw his sandwich on the plastic tray and continued, “How do I communicate with the little green men?”
“Little green men?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey dude, did Jezebel sell you some of that liquid acid? That’s to be taken in small doses, you know. I hope you didn’t slurp that down.”
“Don’t be coy.”
“Coy?” Pumpkinhead picked at his hash browns. “You sure you mean coy?”
“Yeah I mean coy; you know like a wise-ass.” He took another bite of his sandwich.
“A wise-ass is just a wise-ass. If you’re coy, then you’re a bashful, or a shy wise-ass.”
“But you’re still a wise-ass!”
“Only if you use that particular adjective in there, otherwise you’re just a demure person.”
“Stupid?”
“Huh?”
“Stupid….a stupid person. Like, ‘that guy skipping across the street is acting a bit demurely’.”
“Because he’s demure, he’s stupid?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Being demure has nothing to do with stupidity. Did we go to school in the same country?”

2016-07-15-21-25-02

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Volume 4

Remember when we had no deadlines, no responsibilities, no self-respect, no goals, and no motivation to execute any of them even if we did?

Back then things were simpler and more confused

If you remember (or forgot) the 80’s, then you’ll appreciate some of this. Or, if you are curious WHAT REALLY  went on in that time, this is not a bad place to start.

The latest installment of the series, FREE on Kindle unlimited……

© 2016 Mark Rogers

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Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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The Rock – Of Ages

It was a night just like any other night; a night of good times, a night of bad times, but mostly just a night of times. It was a night to remember, but more over, a night to forget. It was a night of endless ribbing and poking at one another’s blemishes and shortcomings, a night of mundane inebriation and quick fixes, a night of bonding among futile friends and worthy adversaries; in short, another night of explosive mediocrity.

For those who went, The Rock had been a source of nirvana, an escape from everyday troubles, a place to call their own and to hide from the world; regardless of the fact that the world was sometimes less than fifteen-hundred feet away. And, except for the one time, no parents or cops ever came to The Rock and, except for an occasional canoe or kayaker….and Moon, there was never any other signs of humanity at The Rock. It was their safe zone, and would forever be remembered as a peaceful haven in their memories.

Mahdakis stood on the edge of the small cliff, which held the rock and over looked the tail end of the Brandywine River that poured into The Christina, which eventually poured into the Delaware. It was a small river, only several feet deep at its deepest points, and at its widest point, you could throw a Frisbee to someone. But it was peaceful and had a calming effect on him. He stood thinking of the inevitable future, and the nagging past that just wouldn’t leave him alone. At this point he could hear almost every inane conversation going on behind him………………

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Ride The Snake

Waking to the fuzzy feel of the rapidly fraying silk sheets, her naked curvaceous body intertwined with his and, and more importantly, to the comforting knowledge that he was safe. Safe in her arms; cocooned within a calming sense of belonging, purpose, want, and need; the beat of his heart, once again accompanied with a melody. He was with his true love.

But with all that, came the familiar air of uncertainty. The uncertainty of what she was thinking (and why), or scheming to do next (and when), and then, how long this euphoria would last. But it was his choice, and he knew the plausible consequences. He knew he’d forfeited all control the moment he stepped towards her; yet he stepped anyway. The serpent that was their twisted, masochistic passion for one another had reawakened itself and was cotton-mouthed; thirsty for new blood. And in its unyielding quest to quench the thirst, would lead them both down a long spiraling ride of emotional anguish and sexual nirvana, as only a serpent can be held accountable. Continue reading

Return To Sender

burning-diploma

“Where you off to in such a hurry?”

“They just kicked me out of school,” said Mahdakis, stopping to acknowledge Floyd. “I guess I got to start looking for some sort of a job, or something.”

“Well that wasn’t very nice of them. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Ya had to do something. They don’t just kick you out of school for doing nothing.”

Mahdakis took a puff of his cigar. “Apparently they do.”

“Hmm…who knew?”

“Hey dudes! What’s up?” Nicki said, coming out of the school, slapping them both on the ass. “Shouldn’t you guys be in class, or something?”

“Us? I thought you graduated a few months ago. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to say hi to a couple of teachers. Ask how their summer was, you know?”

“Did you have sex with them?”

“What? No! What’s the matter with you?”

“Then why are you talking to teachers when you don’t have to?”

“Never mind.”

“Mahdakis just got kicked out of school.”

“For how long?”

“Forever long. Mr. Fuss said if I quit on my own, it will look better on my record, so I did.”

“Shit man, what did you do?”

“Nothin’ Hee-hee-hee-hee. He did nothing!”

“And it seems that’s not an acceptable practice.”

“Well, duh,” Nicki said, getting in his face. “You’re supposed to do something, anything…but you can’t just do nothing.”

“Ahh….and nothing is not something, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“But anything is something.”

“And something can be anything.”

“Most definitely.”

“But you can make something out of nothing, people do it all the time.”

“And you can make nothing out of something, although it’s not recommended.”

“So where did I go wrong?”

“It sounds like you were trying to make anything out of nothing, buddy, that’s the problem here.”

“Okay, but can’t you make nothing out of anything?”

“Sure. Politicians do it on a daily basis.”

“Now I see.”

“Alright, enough of you assholes. Anyone seen Tony?”

“He went to pick up his car this morning, and then go to work. They offered him new full-time hours. If it works out, he’s hoping his birth-givers will let him quit school.”

“Quit school?”

“Well at least he can say he was doing something.”

“He can’t quit school! And where the hell is he? That asshole! He told me to meet him here because he didn’t have a ride!”

“I don’t know, Nick, but he left a while ago, and what do you mean, quit school? Why not? Thousands of people do it every day.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Or wrong.”

“But it does make it trendy.”

“I’m thinking about doing it!”

“When?”

“How about right now? Hee-hee-hee-hee,” Floyd laughed, slapped him on the back and started walking away from the school with him. “Want some company?”

“Sure. The more the merrier.”

“Yeah, let’s see how fuckin’ merry you guys are standing in the unemployment line. What the fuck? What are you idiots gonna do with yourselves?”

“I don’t know,” Mahdakis confessed. “I guess whatever teenage dropouts do.”

“Wanna get high?”

“Sure.”

“Listen to yourselves. What a bunch of fuckin’ B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S.”

“Okay Mrs. Smarty pants, what would you do?”

“I don’t know,” said Nicki, swinging a set of keys around. “But I have my birth-giver’s car all day, nowhere to go, and a bag of purple microdot.”

“Where’s the car?”

“The Jeep’s over there, right in front.”

“I thought you couldn’t park there.’

“Student’s can’t park there but I’m not a student anymore, remember?”

“See? You get all kinds of special privileges and access to the school once you don’t go here anymore, or have any real use for it.”

“But while you’re here, you’re treated like an animal. This makes sense to you guys?”

“It’s incentive.’

“Incentive would be getting a blowjob from your teacher after a good grade.”

“That’d be a lot of blowjobs.”

“Not if she taught you idiots. Besides, what if it was a guy teacher, you assholes? You want some old dude slobberin’ all over your cocks?”

“I don’t know, that wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.”

“She says it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You know I read somewhere that Japanese female-birth-givers do just that for their male offspring, when they bring home a good grade for the semester.”

“That’s just sick, you know that. What kind of a normal person would want their female-birth-giver giving them head?”

“Have you ever met Floyd’s female-birth-giver?”

“Shut up, dude.” Floyd looked over at Nicki and said, “Normal is all how you are raised. If you’re taught that this is normal, you don’t think of it as odd.”

“Meaning, the female-birth-givers go down on their offspring when they’re young? What are you, an asshole?”

“It’s true. In that same report, they explained how they masturbate their male offspring when they’re very young so as to stop them from crying, and continue this practice well into puberty.”

“Makes sense.”

“What??? Mahdakis, where do you come up with this shit?”

“I read a lot.”

“Maybe if you read more of your assignments instead of whacking off to National Geographic, or whatever, you wouldn’t be repeating your senior year again.”

“Aren’t you paying attention? I’m not.”

© 2011 Mark Rogers

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Driftwood (Book I)

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All Tomorrow’s Parties

What the fuck man, let me in!” Jason demanded, standing on the third stair from the top, pushing on the door to Snowy’s room, which was above his grandparent’s garage. “Stop horsing around, Snowy, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll…..”

“You’ll suck my dick! What the fuck are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to be here tomorrow,” Snowy said, pushing back on the door from the other side.

“Tomorrow? Yeah, right. But the real party is going on tonight. Good thing I got my ear to the ground.”

“And I’m gonna put your face to the ground, with it, if you don’t stop pushing this fuckin’ door! Now, come back tomorrow.”

“What the fuck is this? Come back tomorrow? Are you joking around or something?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” Snowy said, grabbing a broom and shooing him away, like an oversized rodent. “Now get down the stairs motherfucker, and come back tomorrow! This is the only way I could do it. You’re ruining everything!”

“I’m ruining everything? What’s tomorrow? Get that thing away from me.”

“There’s not much room in here, Jason, so I had to throw the party in shifts. One group of friends tonight, and one tomorrow; all different people; one’s that you and I know from way back.”

“But, why can’t I just stay here now and not come tomorrow?”

“Because, there will be too many people up here.”

“So what?”

“So, the Fire Marshall may come and shut us down, or something.”

“Shut you down? Fire Marshall? Have you lost your mind?”

“No. Besides, if you don’t come tomorrow, like I asked, I won’t have any one cool to hang out with?”

“Why did you invite un-cool people to begin with?”

“I was gonna ask the same thing,” said Rizzo, from inside the room.

“Rizzo!” Boodles yelled walking through the door and past Snowy, without a problem.

“So, I have to hang out with the un-cool people?”

“Stop your sobbin’ before I snap you in half.”

“Yeah, right. C’mon, man. Rizzo’s here.”

“Yeah, and do you know why she’s here? Because I asked her to come tonight, like I asked you to come tomorrow night. You don’t see her showing up last night at my house do you, slim? No, she show’s up when she’s asked because that’s the respectful thing to do, and not show up unannounced like a Kirby fuckin’ vacuum salesman!”

“Fine. Sorry about that. I’ll come tomorrow so you have someone cool to hang with. But I’m here now, so let’s hang now, as well.”

“Hey, can we come again tomorrow?” Pablo asked in an instigating manner.

Snowy got into Jason’s face and said, “See what you’re doing? If you come both days, then he’s gonna wanna come both days, and Rizzo will have to come both days, then everyone’s gonna wanna come both days, and pretty soon it’ll be fuckin’ anarchy. Look at these people in here, you’re getting them all riled up.” Jason looked in at Pablo, Rizzo, Cannoli, and Jack sitting peacefully and talking softly among themselves. “You’re about to incite a riot. If you don’t go, I’ll be forced to call the authorities!”

“Ha! What are you gonna tell ’em, ‘Hey officer, there’s this crazy guy at my cocaine party, and he won’t leave.’ Huh? Fine……Boodles, let’s go.”

“I wanna stay,” she yelled from inside.

“We can’t! The Grand Pooh-Bah of Parties is kicking us out.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Boodles whined.

“You’re fine,” Snowy assured. “HE has to go, though.”

“Say what? She’s fine? She can stay but I can’t? She wasn’t even invited. How much of that shit have you had so far?”

“But she was your ride, right?”

“Of course!”

“That’s fine. I allotted for most people to come with a person who would be their ride. But she can’t come tomorrow, too. You’ll have to drive yourself tomorrow or find someone else to take you, someone who isn’t here tonight.”

Jason stared in disbelief and poked his finger hard on Snowy’s chest. “Fine, but this is some fucked up shit, and I’m not going to forget it. Boods! C’mon, I need a ride back to my house, apparently.”

“Take Dakota if you’re leaving, unless you can find a ride later.” Snowy looked at the saucy longhaired brunette in the tight jeans.

“I’m coming back,” Boodles informed him.

“No you’re not. Once you leave you can’t come back.”

“Say what? Why not?”

“Because you’re HIS ride, and that’s the only reason you’re allowed to stay, and she wasn’t invited without Carl, so she has to leave with you, unless someone gives you a ride later on.” He looked at Dakota.

“Okay. I can get a ride later. Pumpkinhead is coming, right?”

“Far as I know.”

“I’m staying,” Dakota said confidently, walking into the room, and plopping herself and her purse down, next to Cannoli and Jack Carrot.

“Well, I don’t wanna go,” said Boodles, as Pumpkinhead came walking up the stairs, behind Jason.

“Okay, stay here,” Snowy said, pushing her back in and addressing Pumpkinhead with his eyes. “Dude, stay right there.”

“Yeah, what’s up man?”

“Can you give Jason a ride back home? He’s not feeling himself tonight.”

“Ahh man, what a rash. I just got here, dude. Can’t we chill for a minute?”

“No,” said Jason sarcastically, “because once you’re in, you can’t leave and come back…those are the rules.”

Goiter, who had been standing behind Pumpkinhead laughed and said, “Can’t we get some sort of ticket stub? Ha-ha-ha.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Say what?”

“I thought you were coming alone.”

“I saw him hitchhiking on the road. He had nothing to do.”

“So why does he have to do nothing here? Why couldn’t he do nothing somewhere else?” (inhale-exhale) “You just don’t know when to leave well enough alone, do you, Pumpkinhead?”

“What the fuck, man?”

“Fine.” (exhale) “But you’ll have to stand outside, under the tree. There’s no more room for anyone in here.”

“There’s only five people in there!”

“Can you give this joker a ride back, or not? Dude, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“What are you going to do,” asked Goiter, “give him a blow job? Ha-ha-ha.”

“I’m gonna crack you in the fuckin’ head, is what I’m gonna do!”

“Alright man, let’s go.” Pumpkinhead motioned to Jason.

“Hang on…Boodles, come here for a minute.”

“C’mon man, let’s go.” Pumpkinhead said impatiently. “You wanna come, Goiter?”

“Might as well, I’m in no big hurry to start standing under a tree all night.”

© 2012 Mark Rogers

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Blue Morning, Blue Day

pabst

“God is an evil, demented, son of a bitch!”

“Oh my.”

“And I’ll tell you why Robin, you wanna know why?”

“Of course I do; who wouldn’t?……..But I’m afraid to ask.”

“I’ll ask.”

“Okay Fred, go ahead. Ask.”

“Fine. Howard, why, as you so gracefully put it, is God an evil, demented son of a Bitch?”

“Because he gave me the smallest penis on the planet!”

“Aaahhh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“Oh, come on, you have to be exaggerating.”

“Robin….when I’m naked, it looks as though I have two belly buttons.”

“I think God compensated for it though with that nose. Hee-hee-hee-hee!”

“Yeah, go ahead and laugh jokeman, laugh away; Laugh while your wife is having sex with black men on the front lawn, in broad daylight.”

“Hey, I didn’t write that joke! Fred handed that to me. Hee-hee-hee-hee! I wish I did, though. Hee-hee-hee-hee!”

“I knew I didn’t want to ask.”

 The clock radio, sitting on the soiled shag-carpeted floor, blares out the syndicated morning radio show on WYSP. A listless right arm falls on top of it slamming the button down. The hand attached to the arm fumbles about and finds a half empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon leaning against the radiator. Mahdakis takes a pungent gulp and opens his eyes, acknowledging the dawn of another hapless, miserable day on this wretched, grey planet.

It is past eight o’clock on a Wednesday morning. The birth-givers and his younger brother, Pumpkinhead, have long gone to work…as most responsible adults have.

Our hero stumbles downstairs groggily, and turns the TV on as he begins to fix breakfast, a vegetable omelet with an abundance of cheese; enough so to scorch the frying pan beyond color recognition. The cartoon, Inspector Gadget is on; he watches with mild curiosity as he seats himself at the lonely cedar kitchen table wondering if anyone ever thought of making a porno version of Gadget, “Go, go gadget penis!” But his happiness is quickly subsided, as he is once again smacked in the heart with reality, and reminded that for the first time in four years, he is with the absence of true love in his life. For whatever reason, he liked being in love and having a girlfriend. Was it insecurity, or just an overwhelming need to possess another person’s affections? It was good that Jezebel was out of his life. But now he had no one else to blame for his problems…and he hated that.

Lying on the table, to the right of where he is eating, is a yellow note pad with writing on it. It is a song that he had started the day before yesterday. There are only four lines written on it:

 

‘Lovers may go but new ones will show

As the faces change and the years go by.

But I’m too weak to smile

And I’m too strong to cry…’

 

He gives pause as he considers adding another line. In the background he hears the desperate plea of a foiled bank robber being captured by Inspector Gadget, who had used his Gadget legs to extend up into the air another twenty feet, thus allowing him to walk over traffic. Mahdakis thinks for a moment how that would really come in handy…as long as everyone else didn’t have the same capability. Because then, you’d have the same problem with traffic congestion, but just twenty feet higher above the ground.

The twenty-year-old peels a pen up off the floor. The pen is covered in some unidentifiable goo (most likely something Pumpkinhead spilled on it last night while making dinner for himself at one in the morning while stoned off his ass). Mahdakis adds six more lines to the would-be song:

 

‘As destiny pulls me away

Towards a much more cloudy day

And there’s nothing more to say…

 ..But to face the truth and realize

That it’s time to break these emotional ties

That keep me locked up behind cold eyes.’

 

There.

His work was done for the day. Still chewing his food, he gets up from the table, walks to the kitchen and dumps the plate into the sink. ‘Someone will clean this up, they always do. Every day I put dirty plates in here and the next day they’re gone.’ He turns off the TV and heads upstairs to rub one out and take a shower.

It is almost ten o’clock by the time he is dressed.

There.

Two hours killed without too much thinking. But how to destroy the rest of the day? His birth-givers told him he’d best find a job soon…..‘or else’. He didn’t know what ‘or else’ meant, but it didn’t sound promising. He had come to appreciate the comforts of a real home (warmth, electricity, his own room, a toilet), and was in no hurry to return to the lifestyle of living under bridges, in friends’ cars, and in laundry mats as he had done with Carl and Floyd only a year ago. He walked to his upstairs bedroom window and stared outside, deep in thought, trying to remember the events of the night before……

Photo: “I have got a crush on you,” by Tor Alden
Art: “The Burnouts” by Liz Aikler

© 2016 Mark Rogers

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Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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Paradise In Purgatory

Remember when we had no deadlines, no responsibilities, no self-respect, no goals, and no motivation to execute any of them even if we did,?

Ah……back then things were simpler and more confused….

 

© 2016 Mark Rogers

Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory

Paradise In Purgatory

(Vol. IV)

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Skid Marks

Mahdakis stepped into the laundry mat, that Floyd and Carl had recently made their temporary sleeping quarters since being kicked out of their homes. “A little conspicuously bright for sleep, wouldn’t you say, Carl?”

“Yeah? Go back outside then.”

“It’s freezing out there.”

“Right, but in here?”

“It’s like a sauna, quite frankly.”

“We got half the dryers going, that’s why,” Carl said proudly. “Brain power.”

“I see.”

Floyd spoke from the rear of the mat where he stood folding clothes on a table, “I won thirty dollars in change playing poker with Squid,”

“Ah. And why not sleep here, instead of getting one of those rooms at the Motor Inn for nineteen ninety-nine, and having a few bucks to spare, right?”

“We didn’t want anyone to think we were gay,” Floyd said, placing a lace negligee on a hanger.”

“You’re still hell bent on keeping it a secret, are you?” Mahdakis looked at Floyd, who swiftly moved on to folding some silk panties,

Carl, finally noticing what Floyd was doing in the back of the laundry mat said, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like, Johnny-Boy? Folding clothes.”

“Where did you find them? And cut the shit with that Johnny-Boy crap.”

“Whose are they?” Mahdakis asked.

“I don’t know. They were just sitting in here.” Floyd motioned to the dryer.

“So you’re folding them?”

“Well…..yeah……they’re gonna wrinkle otherwise.” Then, mumbling to himself, Floyd uttered, “Ooh, that spot’s not coming out.”

So dude, where you been?” Carl said to Mahdakis.

“Hee-hee-hee-hee!” Floyd laughed from the rear of the mat. “Jesus Christ, will ya look at these?”

“Ahh! Man!” was Carl’s reaction to the pair of skid marked encrusted cotton underwear that Floyd held in the air like a trophy.

“I didn’t think women did this sort of thing. Hee-hee-hee-hee. These things are ruined. Why even bother. Fuck it.” Floyd threw them into the trash basin.

“Fuck this; let’s go grab a bite to eat.”

“Cool,” Floyd said, and placed the basket gently back down on the bench, as he then began scribbling something on a napkin. “Just give me a minute here. I’m gonna leave this person a note.”

“To let ’em know you make house calls?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that……Okay, let’s go,” Floyd said, laying the note on top of her basket and rushing out the door just behind Carl and Mahdakis. He paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder. “You got to wonder what kind of person just throws a load of clothes in a dryer in the middle of the night and leaves them there.”

Kelly Pierce was that kind of person. And she filed a report with the police, which, in turn, spawned an investigation by the Norford Police Department, spearheaded by Police Commissioner Stromboli.

Floyd's Note Revised

Commissioner Stromboli re-read the last part of the letter aloud, “Floyd……..Floyd…..What do you suppose that means, Darryl?”

“Arr. You don’t tink it’s just his name?”

“Hell no! No one is that stupid. This is code for something, an acronym of some sort. Something gang related or………maybe having to do with the mafia!” The Commissioner rubbed his chin. “What was that guy’s name in The Godfather?….Hmm, never the mind, we have to figure out what this FLOYD thing stands for. It’s our only clue.”

“Found Loitering On Your Doorstep?”

“Don’t be daft! What kind of nonsense is that? Besides, isn’t Doorstep two words?”

“I do believe it’s one, sir.”

“Fetch a dictionary.”

“Sir!” a voice yelled coming up the precinct stairwell. “Commissioner!”

Commissioner Stromboli and Officer Darryl turned to see Officer Roy scurrying, up the stairs with Rookie Rick. “Officer Roy, what’s the trouble?”

Roy looked at the rookie cop. “Tell him what you heard.”

“Well, this morning I overheard John, the night watchman, talking to one of the construction workers on the job site. Apparently, every Thursday night before work, John stops around the corner at Cassel’s Wash & Dry on Third, and throws his laundry in the machine. Then, on his break, throws it into the dryer. He goes back to his post, works the rest of his shift, and picks it up in the morning on his way home. But this time when he returned to the mat…”

“Don’t tell me………..his clothes were folded!”

“Not only that, sir. But someone left him a note.”

“Jiminy Cricket, sir!”

“What kind of note?”

Roy pulled the note from his breast pocket, and unfolded it. “It just says, ‘You owe me, Johnny-Boy.’.”

“Johnny-boy?”

“Meaning the Night Watchman, John.”

The Commissioner looked puzzled and frightened for a moment as he stared at his reflection in the sparkling clean, precinct floor and gave thought. “Did he sign the note, Roy?”

“Nope. Not this time. And so far as we can tell, there’s no relation to either of the victims.”

The commissioner whipped off his glasses. “Dear God in heaven! Twice in three days; what kind of diabolical, twisted malcontent are we dealing with, here?”

“I don’t know commissioner, but anyone sick enough to go through other people’s clothes, well…”

“They’re capable of anything……Roy? Darryl? I want you two to add an extra cruiser at night and start canvassing areas near any laundry mats. Start within the vicinity of these last two.”

“Yes sir.”

“We’ll find this demented, clothes-folding son of a bitch sicko if it’s the last thing we do.”

 

© 2012 Mark Rogers

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 Crimes Seen

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